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UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  ; 


OR, 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY 


BY 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE 


WITH    AN     INTRODUCTION 

BY 

W.   S.   WALSH 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY  ALTEMUS 

1894 


Copyrighted,  1894,  by  HENRY  ALTEMUS 


Altemus'  Bookbindery,  Philadelphia 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

Cabin"  was  accordingly  published  March  20,  1852. 
Mrs.  Stowe  had  playfully  written  to  her  publisher  that 
she  needed  a  new  winter  dress,  and  she  hoped  the 
book  would  bring  her  in  sufficient  to  buy  one.  The 
first  check  from  her  publishers  was  for  #10,000. 

The  book  had  been  an  enormous  success  from  the 
start.  Twenty-five  thousand  copies  were  sold  in  a  fort- 
night, three  hundred  thousand  within  the  year.  These 
are  the  American  figures.  Over  in  England  the  sales 
were  even  more  stupendous.  In  the  absence  of  any 
restraining  copyright  forty-three  different  editions  were 
put  upon  the  market  by  as  many  rival  houses.  One 
house  alone  turned  out  ten  thousand  copies  daily  for 
the  space  of  four  weeks,  employing  a  thousand  hands 
in  the  labor.  Nor  was  that  all.  In  the  form  of  trans- 
lations "  Uncle  Tom  "  ran  like  wildfire  all  over  Europe, 
and  even  beyond  the  borders  of  Europe.  It  made  its 
appearance  in  no  less  than  twenty-one  different  lan- 
guages, and  in  several  countries  there  were  as  many  as 
a  dozen  different  versions. 

The  success  was  not  an  ephemeral  one.  Year  after 
year  the  demand  continued  until  it  might  almost  be  as- 
serted that  the  book  had  gone  into  every  household  in 
the  civilized  world  which  contained  one  person  who  was 
capable  of  reading  it.  And  everywhere  it  was  read  with 
passion,  with  enthusiasm,  with  tears.  And  from  all 
corners  of  the  world,  from  high  and  low,  from  rich  and 
poor,  came  tributes  of  affection  and  esteem  and  honor 
to  the  woman  who  had  so  powerfully  moved  their  better 

selves.  696725 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

Who  shall  estimate  the  influence  which  this  book  has 
had  in  the  cause  of  liberty  in  emancipating  the  slaves, 
not  only  of  North  America,  but  of  South  ;  nay,  in  free- 
ing the  serfs  of  Russia  ? 

Yet  it  was  not  all  enthusiasm  which  the  book  evoked. 
The  author,  indeed,  was  strangely  surprised  by  some  of 
the  incidents  of  its  reception.  She  had  not  looked  upon 
slavery  with  the  eyes  of  a  fanatical  abolitionist.  She 
had  tried  to  be  just — to  see  both  sides.  She  knew  that, 
though  slavery  was  an  institution  which  cruel  and  heart- 
less men  used  for  cruel  and  heartless  purposes,  there 
were  hundreds  of  slave  owners  who  were  neither  cruel 
nor  heartless.  She  had  painted  them  as  they  were, 
well  meaning,  kindly,  lovable ;  she  had  acknowledged 
the  difficulties  and  the  perplexities  which  beset  them. 
She  had  attacked  the  institution  and  not  those  who 
were  its  unconscious  victims.  She  had  expected,  there- 
fore, that  the  book  would  not  please  the  more  violent 
among  the  abolitionists.  She  had  even  hoped  that 
the  kindlier  slave  owners  would  be  won  over  to  her 
view  of  the  slavery  question.  A  friend,  closely  allied 
to  many  people  in  the  South,  had  even  written  to  her  to 
say,  "Your  book  is  going  to  be  the  great  pacificator ;  it 
will  unite  both  North  and  South." 

These  dreams  were  not  to  come  true.  The  abolition- 
ists welcomed  the  book  with  open  arms.  The  slave 
owners,  one  and  all,  good  and  bad,  spurned  it.  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  wrote  to  Mrs.  Stowe :  "  Since  '  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin '  has  been  published  all  the  defenders  of 
slavery  have   let  me   alone,    and   are   spending   their 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlll 

strength  in  abusing  you."  They  abused  her,  not  only 
in  public,  but  in  private.  The  newspapers  from  one 
end  of  the  slave  States  to  the  other  reviled  her.  Her 
mail  was  every  day  crowded  with  scurrilous  and  threaten- 
ing letters. 

We  of  the  present  can  look  upon  the  past  with  calm 
eyes.  The  peculiar  institution  which  the  book  attacked 
lias  been  abolished.  The  passions  which  it  engendered, 
the  animosities  it  provoked,  are  dead.  North  and  South, 
we  can  now  do  justice  to  the  motive  which  prompted 
the  composition  of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  We  can  see 
that  that  motive  was  carried  out  with  an  earnest  effort 
at  fairness,  that  no  conscious  injustice  was  done  to  either 
the  institution  or  to  the  men  who  championed  it.  That 
Legrees  have  existed  in  the  South,  as  elsewhere,  will  be 
freely  acknowledged  by  all.  That  a  system  which 
makes  it  possible  for  a  Legree  to  obtain  control  over 
the  bodies,  and  even  the  souls,  of  his  fellow  creatures, 
is  a  wrong  system  most  people  will  admit.  That  the 
great  Southern  States  are  better  off  without  slavery 
than  with  it  is  now  the  opinion  of  those  States  them- 
selves. 

We  can,  therefore,  look  upon  Mrs.  Stowe's  masterpiece 
with  unjaun diced  eyes.  That  it  is  interesting  histori- 
cally, that  it  has  performed  a  great  work  in  the  world, 
goes  without  saying.  But  beyond  that  it  has  intrinsic 
merits  which  will  snake  it  forever  popular.  It  has 
humor,  it  has  pathos,  it  has  dramatic  interest,  it  is 
thoroughly  human  and  humane.  A  book  with  such 
characteristics  can  never  die. 


PREFACE. 

The  scenes  of  this  story,  as  its  title  indicates,  lie 
among  a  race  hitherto  ignored  by  the  associations 
of  polite  and  refined  society  ;  an  exotic  race,  whose 
ancestors,  born  beneath  a  tropic  sun,  brought  with 
them,  and  perpetuated  to  their  descendants,  a 
character  so  essentially  unlike  the  hard  and  domi- 
nant Anglo-Saxon  race,  as  for  many  years  to  have 
won  from  it  only  misunderstanding  and  contempt. 

But,  another  and  better  day  is  dawning ;  every 
influence  of  literature,  of  poetry  and  of  art,  in  our 
times,  is  becoming  more  and  more  in  unison  with 
the  great  master  chord  of  Christianity,  "  good  will 
to  man." 

The  poet,  the  painter,  and  the  artist,  now  seek 
out  and  embellish  the  common  and  gentler  human- 
ities of  life,  and,  under  the  allurements  of  fiction, 
breathe  a  humanizing  and  subduing  influence,  favor- 
able to  the  development  of  the  great  principles  of 
Christian  brotherhood. 

The  han4  of  benevolence  is  everywhere  stretched 
out,  searching  into  abuses,  righting  wrongs,  alleviat- 
ing distresses,  and  bringing  to  the  knowledge  and 
sympathies  of  the  world  the  lowly,  the  oppressed 
and  the  forgotten. 

In  this  general  movement,  unhappy  Africa  at  last 
is  remembered ;  Africa,  who  began  the  race  of  civil- 
ization and  human  progress  in  the  dim,  gray  dawn 

xv 


XVI  PREFACE. 

of  early  time,  but  who,  for  centuries,  has  lain  bound 
and  bleeding  at  the  foot  of  civilized  and  Christian- 
ized humanity,  imploring  compassion  in  vain. 

But  the  heart  of  the  dominant  race,  who  have 
been  her  conquerors,  her  hard  masters,  has  at  length 
been  turned  towards  her  in  mercy ;  and  it  has  been 
seen  how  far  nobler  it  is  in  nations  to  protect  the 
feeble  than  to  oppress  them.  Thanks  be  to  God, 
the  world  has  at  last  outlived  the  slave-trade  ! 

The  object  of  these  sketches  is  to  awaken  sym- 
pathy and  feeling  for  the  African  race,  as  they  exist 
among  us ;  to  show  their  wrongs  and  sorrows,  under 
a  system  so  necessarily  cruel  and  unjust  as  to  de- 
feat and  do  away  the  good  effects  of  all  that  can  be 
attempted  for  them,  by  their  best  friends,  under  it. 

In  doing  this,  the  author  can  sincerely  disclaim 
any  invidious  feeling  towards  those  individuals  who, 
often  without  any  fault  of  their  own,  are  involved  in 
the  trials  and  embarrassments  of  the  legal  relations 
of  slavery. 

Experience  has  shown  her  that  some  of  the 
noblest  of  minds  and  hearts  are  often  thus  involved  ; 
and  no  one  knows  better  than  they  do,  that  what 
may  be  gathered  of  the  evils  of  slavery  from 
sketches  like  these,  is  not  the  half  that  could  be 
told,  of  the  unspeakable  whole. 

In  the  northern  states,  these  representations  may, 
perhaps,  be  thought  caricatures  ;  in  the  southern 
states  are  witnesses  who  know  their  fidelity.  What 
personal  knowledge  the  author  has  had,  of  the  truth 
of  incidents  such  as  here  are  related,  will  appear  in 
its  time. 

It  is  a  comfort  to  hope,  as  so  many  of  the  world's 
sorrows  and.  wrongs  have,  from  age  to  age,  been 
lived  .down,  so  a  time  shall  come   when   sketches 


PREFACE.  XVII 

similar  to  these  shall  be  valuable  only  as  memorials 
of  what  has  long  ceased  to  be. 

When  an  enlightened  and  Christianized  com- 
munity shall  have,  on  the  shores  of  Africa,  laws, 
language  and  literature,  drawn  from  among  us, 
may  then  the  scenes  of  the  house  of  bondage  be  to 
them  like  the  remembrance  of  Egypt  to  the  Israelite, 
— a  motive  of  thankfulness  to  Him  who  hath  re- 
deemed them  ! 

For,  while  politicians  contend,  and  men  are 
swerved  this  way  and  that  by  conflicting  tides  of 
interest  and  passion,  the  great  cause  of  human 
liberty  is  in  the  hands  of  one,  of  whom  it  is  said : 

"  He  shall  not  fail  nor  be  discouraged 

Till  He  have  set  judgment  in  the  earth." 
"  He  shall  deliver  the  needy  when  he  crieth, 

The  poor,  and  him  that  hath  no  helper." 
"  He  shall  redeem  their  soul  from  deceit  and  violence. 

And  precious  shall  their  blood  be  in  His  sight." 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

In  which  the    Reader    is    Introduced    to  a  Man  of 
Humanity 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Mother 15 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Husband  and  Father 20 

CHAPTER  IV. 

An  Evening  in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin 2T 

CHAPTER  V. 

Showing  the  Feelings  of  Living  Property  on  Changing 
Owners 43 

CHAPTER  VL 
Discovery.. , 55 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Mother's  Struggle 6& 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Eliza's  Escape. 8T 

CHAPTER  IX. 

In  which  it  Appears  that  a  Senator  is  but  a  Man 1(K> 

xix 


JCX  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

PAGE 

The  Property  is  carried  off 132 

CHAPTER  XL 
In  which  Property  gets  into  an  Improper  State  of  Mind,  146 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Select  Incident  of  Lawful  Trade 165 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  Quaker  Settlement 189 

CHAPTER  XIY. 
Evangeline 202 

CHAPTER  XV. 

•Of  Tom's  new  Master,  and  Various  other  Matters 216 

v  CHAPTER  XVI. 

Tom's  Mistress  and  her  Opinions 239 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Freeman's  Defence 265 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Hiss  Ophelia's  Experiences  and  Opinions 288 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Hiss  Ophelia's  Experiences  and  Opinions,  Continued,  311 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Topsy 339 

CHAPTER  XXL 
Kentuck 360 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
"  The  Grass  Withereth— the  Flower  Fadeth," , .  367 


CONTENTS.  XXI 

CHAPTER  XXni. 

PAGE 

Henrique 377 

CHAPTER  XXIY. 
Foreshadowings .......;.......  388 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Little  Evangelist . 396 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Death 403 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
"  This  is  the  Last  of  Earth. ...;.....: 422. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
Re-union 432. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
The  Unprotected 452 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
The  Slave  Warehouse. '.'.'. . . ','.'.  I ...... .  463 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
The  Middle  Passage 477 

CHAPTER  XXXIL 
Dark  Places 485 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Cassy 497 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

The  Quadroon's  Story 507" 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
The  Tokens 52& 


XXII  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

PAGE 

Emmeline  and  Cassy 531 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Liberty 541 

CHAPTER  XXXVHI. 
The  Victory 549 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

The  Stratagem 563 

CHAPTER  XL. 
The  Martyr 577 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
The  Young  Master 586 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
An  Authentic  Ghost  Story 595 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 
Results 604 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
The  Liberator 616 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
Concluding  Remarks 621 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN: 

OR, 

LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  WHICH  THE    READER  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  A  MAN  OF 
HUMANITY. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  chilly  day  in  February, 
two  gentlemen  were  sitting  alone  over  their  wine,  in 

a  well-furnished  dining  parlor,  in  the  town  of  P , 

in  Kentucky.  There  were  no  servants  present,  and 
the  gentlemen,  with  chairs  closely  approaching, 
seemed  to  be  discussing  some  subject  with  great 
earnestness. 

For  convenience  sake,  we  have  said,  hitherto,  two 
geiitlemen.  One  of  the  parties,  however,  when  crit- 
ically examined,  did  not  seem,  strictly  speaking,  to 
come  under  the  species.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set 
man,  with  coarse,  commonplace  features,  and  that 
swaggering  air  of  pretension  which  marks  a  low  man 
who  is  trying  to  elbow  his  way  upward  in  the  worltd. 
He  was  much  over-dressed,  in  a  gaudy  vest  of  many 
colors,  a  blue  neckerchief,  bedropped  gayly  with  yel- 


2  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

low  spots,  and  arranged  with  a  flaunting  tie,  quite  in 
keeping  with  the  general  air  of  the  man.  His  hands, 
large  and  coarse,  were  plentifully  bedecked  with 
rings ;  and  he  wore  a  heavy  gold  watchchain,  with 
a  bundle  of  seals  of  portentous  size,  and  a  great 
variety  of  colors,  attached  to  it, — which,  in  the  ardor 
of  conversation,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  flourishing 
and  jingling  with  evident  satisfaction.  His  conver- 
sation was  in  free  and  easy  defiance  of  Murray's 
Grammar,  and  was  garnished  at  convenient  intervals 
with  various  profane  expressions,  which  not  even  the 
desire  to  be  graphic  in  our  account  shall  induce  us 
to  transcribe. 

His  companion,  Mr.  Shelby,  had  the  appearance 
of  a  gentleman ;  and  the  arrangements  of  the  house, 
and  the  general  air  of  the  housekeeping,  indicated 
easy,  and  even  opulent  circumstances.  As  we  be- 
fore stated,  the  two  were  in  the  midst  of  an  earnest 
conversation. 

"  That  is  the  way  I  should  arrange  the  matter," 
said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  I  can't  make  trade  that  way — I  positively  can't, 
Mr.  Shelby,"  said  the  other,  holding  up  a  glass  of 
wine  between  his  eye  and  the  light. 

"  Why,  the  fact  is,  Haley,  Tom  is  an  uncommon 
fellow  ;  he  is  certainly  worth  that  sum  anywhere, — 
steady,  honest,  capable,  manages  my  whole  farm  like 
a  clock." 

"  You  mean  honest,  as  niggers  go,"  said  Haley, 
helping  himself  to  a  glass  of  brandy. 

"  No ;  I  mean,  really,  Tom  is  a  good,  steady,  sen- 
sible, pious  fellow.  He  got  religion  at  a  camp-meet- 
ing, four  years  ago  ;  and  I  believe  he  really  did  get 
it.  I  've  trusted  him,  since  then,  with  everything  I 
have, — money,  house,  horses, — and  let   him   come 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  3 

and  go  round  the  country ;  and  I  always  found  him 
true  and  square  in  everything." 

"  Some  folks  don't  believe  there  is  pious  niggers, 
Shelby,"  said  Haley,  with  a  candid  flourish  of  his 
hand,  "but  I  do.  I  had  a  fellow,  now,  in  this  yer 
last  lot  I  took  to  Orleans — it  was  as  good  as  a  meetin* 
now,  really,  to  hear  that  critter  pray  ;  and  he  was 
quite  gentle  and  quiet  like.  He  fetched  me  a  good 
sum,  too,  for  I  bought  him  cheap  of  a  man  that  was 
'bliged  to  sell  out ;  so  I  realized  six  hundred  on  him. 
Yes,  I  consider  religion  a  valeyable  thing  in  a  nig- 
ger, when  it 's  the  genuine  article,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Well,  Tom  's  got  the  real  article,  if  ever  a  fellow 
had,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  Why,  last  fall,  I  let  him 
go  to  Cincinnati  alone,  to  do  business  for  me,  and 
bring  home  five  hundred  dollars.  '  Tom,'  says  I  to 
him, '  I  trust  you,  because  I  think  you  're  a  Christian 
— I  know  you  would  n't  cheat.'  Tom  comes  back, 
sure  enough  ;  I  knew  he  would.  Some  low  fellows, 
they  say,  said  to  him — '  Tom,  why  don't  you  make 
tracks  for  Canada  ? '  '  Ah,  master  trusted  me,  and 
I  could  n't,' — they  told  me  about  it.  I  am  sorry  to 
part  with  Tom,  I  must  say.  You  ought  to  let  him 
cover  the  whole  balance  of  the  debt ;  and  you  would, 
Haley,  if  you  had  any  conscience." 

"  Well,  I  've  got  just  as  much  conscience  as  any 
man  in  business  can  afford  to  keep, — just  a  little, 
you  know,  to  swear  by,  as  't  were,"  said  the  trader, 
jocularly  ;  "  and,  then,  I  'm  ready  to  do  anything  in 
reason  to  'blige  friends :  but  this  yer,  you  see,  is  a 
leetle  too  hard  on  a  fellow — a  leetle  too  hard." 
The  trader  sighed  contemplatively,  and  poured  out 
some  more  brandy.   • 

"  Well,  then,  Haley,  how  will  you  trade  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Shelby,  after  an  uneasy  interval  of  silence. 


4  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Well,  have  n't  you  a  boy  or  gal  that  you  could 
throw  in  with  Tom  ? " 

''  Hum  ! — none  that  I  could  well  spare  ;  to  tell 
the  truth,  it 's  only  hard  necessity  makes  me  willing 
to  sell  at  all.  I  don't  like  parting  with  any  of  my 
hands,  that 's  a  fact." 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  a  small  quadroon  boy, 
between  four  and  five  years  of  age,  entered  the 
room.  There  was  something  in  his  appearance  re- 
markably beautiful  and  engaging.  His  black  hair, 
fine  as  floss  silk,  hung  in  glossy  curls  about  his 
round,  dimpled  face,  while  a  pair  of  large  dark  eyes, 
full  of  fire  and  softness,  looked  out  from  beneath 
the  rich,  long  lashes,  as  he  peered  curiously  into  the 
apartment.  A  gay  robe  of  scarlet  and  yellow  plaid, 
carefully  made  and  neatly  fitted,  set  off  to  advan- 
tage the  dark  and  rich  style  of  his  beauty ;  and  a 
certain  comic  air  of  assurance,  blended  with  bash- 
fulness,  showed  that  he  had  been  not  unused  to 
being  petted  and  noticed  by  his  master. 

"  Hulloa,  Jim  Crow  i  "  said  Mr.  Shelby,  whis- 
tling, and  snapping  a  bunch  of  raisins  towards  him, 
""  pick  that  up,  now  !  " 

The  child  scampered,  with  all  his  little  strength, 
after  the  prize,  while  his  master  laughed. 

"  Come  here,  Jim  Crow,"  said  he.  The  child 
came  up,  and  the  master  patted  the  curly  head,  and 
chucked  him  under  the  chin. 

"  Now,  Jim,  show  this  gentleman  how  you  can 
dance  and  sing."  The  boy  commenced  one  of 
those  wild,  grotesque  songs  common  among  the 
negroes,  in  a  rich,  clear  voice,  accompanying  his 
singing  with  many  comic  evolutions  of  the  hands, 
feet,  and  whole  body,  all  in  perfect  time  to  the 
music. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  5 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Haley,  throwing  him  a  quarter  of 
an  orange. 

"  Now,  Jim,  walk  like  old  Uncle  Cudjoe,  when  he 
has  the  rheumatism,"  said  his  master. 

Instantly  the  flexible  limbs  of  the  child  assumed 
the  appearance  of  deformity  and  distortion,  as,  with 
his  back  humped  up,  and  his  master's  stick  in  his 
hand,  he  hobbled  about  the  room,  his  childish  face 
drawn  into  a  doleful  pucker,  and  spitting  from  right 
to  left,  in  imitation  of  an  old  man. 

Both  gentlemen  laughed  uproariously. 

"  Now,  Jim,"  said  his  master,  "  show  us  how  old 
Elder  Robbins  leads  the  psalm."  The  boy  drew 
his  chubby  face  down  to  a  formidable  length,  and 
commenced  toning  a  psalm  tune  through  his  nose, 
with  imperturbable  gravity. 

''  Hurrah  !  bravo !  what  a  young  'un  !  "  said 
Haley ;  "  that  chap  's  a  case,  I  '11  promise.  Tell 
you  what,"  said  he,  suddenly  clapping  his  hand  on 
Mr.  Shelby's  shoulder,  "  fling  in  that  chap,  and  I  '11 
settle  the  business — I  will.  Come,  now,  if  that  ain't 
doing  the  thing  up  about  the  rightest !  " 

At  this  moment,  the  door  was  pushed  gently  open, 
and  a  young  quadroon  woman,  apparently  about 
twenty-five,  entered  the  room. 

There  needed  only  a  glance  from  the  child  to  her, 
to  identify  her  as  its  mother.  There  was  the  same 
rich,  full,  dark  eye,  with  its  long  lashes ;  the  same 
ripples  of  silky  black  hair.  The  brown  of  her  com- 
plexion gave  way  on  the  cheek  to  a  perceptible  flush, 
which  deepened  as  she  saw  the  gaze  of  the  strange 
man  fixed  upon  her  in  bold  and  undisguised  admi- 
ration. Her  dress  was  of  the  neatest  possible  fit, 
and  set  off  to  advantage  her  finely  moulded  shape  ; 
• — a   delicately  formed  hand   and   a  trim   foot  and 


6  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

ankle  were  items  of  appearance  that  did  not  escape 
the  quick  eye  of  the  trader,  well  used  to  run  up  at  a 
glance  the  points  of  a  fine  female  article. 

"  Well,  Eliza  ?  "  said  her  master,  as  she  stopped 
and  looked  hesitatingly  at  him. 

"  I  was  looking  for  Harry,  please,  sir  ;  "  and  the 
boy  bounded  toward  her,  showing  his  spoils,  which 
he  had  gathered  in  the  skirt  of  his  robe. 

"Well,  take  him  away,  then,"  said  Mr.  Shelby; 
and  hastily  she  withdrew,  carrying  the  child  on  her 
arm. 

"  By  Jupiter,"  said  the  trader,  turning  to  him  in 
admiration,  "  there  's  an  article,  now  !  You  might 
make  your  fortune  on  that  ar  gal  in  Orleans,  any 
day.  I  've  seen  over  a  thousand,  in  my  day,  paid 
down  for  gals  not  a  bit  handsomer." 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  my  fortune  on  her,"  said 
Mr.  Shelby,  dryly  ;  and,  seeking  to  turn  the  conver- 
sation, he  uncorked  a  bottle  of  fresh  wine,  and  asked 
his  companion's  opinion  of  it. 

"  Capital,  sir, — first  chop  !  "  said  the  trader  ;  then 
turning,  and  slapping  his  hand  familiarly  on  Shelby's 
shoulder,  he  added  — 

"  Come,  how  will  you  trade  about  the  gal  ? — what 
shall  I  say  for  her — what  '11  you  take  ? " 

"  Mr,  Haley,  she  is  not  to  be  sold,"  said  Shelby. 
"  My  wife  would  not  part  with  her  for  her  weight  in 
gold. " 

"  Ay,  ay  !  women  always  say  such  things,  'cause 
they  ha'nt  no  sort  of  calculation.  Just  show  'em 
how  many  watches,  feathers,  and  trinkets,  one's 
weight  in  gold  would  buy,  and  that  alters  the  case, 
/reckon." 

"  I  tell  you,  Haley,  this  must  not  be  spoken  of ;  I 
say  no,  and  I  mean  no,"  said  Shelby,  decidedly. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  7 

"  Well,  you  '11  let  me  have  the  boy,  though,"  said 
the  trader ;  "  you  must  own  I  've  come  down  pretty 
handsomely  for  him." 

"  What  on  earth  can  you  want  with  the  child  ?  " 
said  Shelby. 

"  Why,  I  've  got  a  friend  that 's  going  into  this  yer 
branch  of  the  business — wants  to  buy  up  handsome 
boys  to  raise  for  the  market.  Fancy  articles  entirely 
— sell  for  waiters,  and  so  on,  to  rich  'uns,  that  can 
pay  for  handsome  'uns.  It  sets  off  one  of  yer  great 
places — a  real  handsome  boy  to  open  door,  wait, 
and  tend.  They  fetch  a  good  sum ;  and  this  little 
devil  is  such  a  comical,  musical  concern,  he  's  just 
the  article." 

"  I  would  rather  not  sell  him,"  said  Mr.  Shelby, 
thoughtfully  ;  "  the  fact  is,  sir,  I  'm  a  humane  man, 
and  I  hate  to  take  the  boy  from  his  mother,  sir." 

"  O,  you  do  ? — La  !  yes — something  of  that  ar 
natur.  I  understand,  perfectly.  It  is  mighty  on- 
pleasant  getting  on  with  women,  sometimes.  I 
al'ays  hates  these  yer  screechin'  screamin'  times. 
They  are  mighty  onpleasant ;  but,  as  I  manages 
business,  I  generally  avoids  'em,  sir.  Now,  what 
if  you  get  the  girl  off  for  a  day,  or  a  week,  or  so  ; 
then  the  thing  's  done  quietly, — all  over  before  she 
comes  home.  Your  wife  might  get  her  some  ear- 
rings, or  a  new  gown,  or  some  such  truck,  to  make 
up  with  her." 

"  I  'm  afraid  not." 

"  Lor  bless  ye,  yes !  These  critters  an't  like 
white  folks,  you  know ;  they  gets  over  things,  only 
manage  right.  Now,  they  say,"  said  Haley,  assum- 
ing a  candid  and  confidential  air,  "that  this  kind  'o 
trade  is  hardening  to  the  feelings ;  but  I  never 
found  it  so.     Fact  is,  I  never  could  do  things  up 


8  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

the  way  some  fellers  manage  the  business.  I  've 
seen  'em  as  would  pull  a  woman's  child  out  her 
arms,  and  set  him  up  to  sell,  and  she  screechin'  like 
mad  all  the  time  ; — very  bad  policy — damages  the 
article — makes  'em  quite  unfit  for  service  sometimes, 
I  knew  a  real  handsome  gal  once,  in  Orleans,  as 
was  entirely  ruined  by  this  sort  o'  handling.  The 
fellow  that  was  trading  for  her  did  n't  want  her 
baby ;  and  she  was  one  of  your  real  high  sort,  when 
her  blood  was  up.  I  tell  you,  she  squeezed  up  her 
child  in  her  arms,  and  talked,  and  went  on  real 
awful.  It  kinder  makes  my  blood  run  cold  to  think 
on  't ;  and  when  they  carried  off  the  child,  and  locked 
her  up,  she  jest  went  ravin'  mad,  and  died  in  a  week. 
Clear  waste,  sir,  of  a  thousand  dollars,  just  for  want 
of  management, — there  's  where  't  is.  It  's  always 
best  to  do  the  humane  thing,  sir ;  that  's  been  my 
experience."  And  the  trader  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  folded  his  arms,  with  an  air  of  virtuous 
decision,  apparently  considering  himself  a  second 
Wilberforce. 

The  subject  appeared  to  interest  the  gentleman 
deeply  ;  for  while  Mr.  Shelby  was  thoughtfully  peel- 
ing an  orange,  Haley  broke  out  afresh,  with  becom- 
ing diffidence,  but  as  if  actually  driven  by  the  force 
of  truth  to  say  a  few  words  more. 

"  It  don't  look  well,  now,  for  a  feller  to  be  praisin' 
himself;  but  I  say  it  jest  because  it  's  the  truth.  I 
believe  I  'm  reckoned  to  bring  in  about  the  finest 
droves  of  niggers  that  is  brought  in, — at  least,  I  've 
been  told  so ;  if  I  have  once,  I  reckon  I  have  a 
hundred  times, — all  in  good  case, — fat  and  likely, 
and  I  lose  as  few  as  any  man  in  the  business.  And 
I  lays  it  all  to  my  management,  sir ;  and  humanity, 
sir,  I  may  say,  is  the  great  pillar  of  my  manage- 
ment." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  9 

Mr.  Shelby  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  so  he 
said,  "  Indeed  !  " 

"  Now,  I  've  been  laughed  at  for  my  notions,  sir, 
and  I  've  been  talked  to.  They  an't  pop'lar,  and 
they  an't  common  j  but  I  stuck  to  'em,  sir  ;  I'  ve 
stuck  to  'em,  and  realised  well  on  'em  ;  yes,  sir, 
they  have  paid  their  passage,  I  may  say,"  and  the 
trader  laughed  at  his  joke. 

There  was  something  so  piquant  and  original  in 
these  elucidations  of  humanity,  that  Mr.  Shelby 
could  not  help  laughing  in  company.  Perhaps  you 
laugh  too,  dear  reader-  but  you  know  humanity 
comes  out  in  a  variety  of  strange  forms  now-a-days, 
and  there  is  no  end  to  the  odd  things  that  humane 
people  will  say  and  do. 

Mr.  Shelby's  laugh  encouraged  the  trader  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"  It 's  strange,  now,  but  I  never  could  beat  this 
into  people's  heads.  Now,  there  was  Tom  Loker, 
my  old  partner,  down  in  Natchez  ;  he  was  a  clever 
fellow,  Tom  was,  only  the  very  devil  with  niggers, 
— on  principle  't  was,  you  see,  for  a  better  hearted 
feller  never  broke  bread  ;  't  was  his  system,  sir.  I 
used  to  talk  to  Tom.  '  Why,  Tom,'  I  used  to  say, 
1  when  your  gals  takes  on  and  cry,  what  's  the  use 
o'  crackin'  on  'em  over  the  head,  and  knockin'  on 
'em  round  ?  It  's  ridiculous,'  says  I,  '  and  don't 
do  no  sort  o'  good.  Why,  I  don't  see  no  harm  in 
their  cryin','  says  I  ;  *  it 's  natur,'  says  I,  '  and  if  natur 
can't  blow  off  one  way,  it  will  another.  Besides, 
Tom,'  says  I,  f  it  jest  spiles  your  gals  ;  they  get 
sickly,  and  down  in  the  mouth ,  and  sometimes 
they  gets  ugly, — particular  yallow  gals  do, — and  it 's 
the  devil  and  all  gettin'  on  'em  broke  in.  Now/ 
says    I,  '  why  can't   you  kinder   coax  'em  up,    and 


IO  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

speak  'em  fair  ?  Depend  on  it,  Tom,  a  little  human- 
ity, thrown  in  along,  goes  a  heap  further  than  all 
your  jawin'  and  crackin' ;  and  it  pays  better,'  says  I, 
i  depend  on  't.'  But  Tom  could  n't  get  the  hang 
on  't ;  and  he  spiled  so  many  for  me,  that  I  had  to 
break  off  with  him,  though  he  was  a  good-hearted 
fellow,  and  as  fair  a  business  hand  as  is  goin'." 

"  And  do  you  find  your  ways  of  managing  do  the 
business  better  than  Tom's  ?  "  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,  I  may  say  so.  You  see,  when  I 
any  ways  can,  I  takes  a  leetle  care  about  the  on- 
pleasant  parts  like  selling  young  uns  and  that, — get 
the  gals  out  of  the  way — out  of  sight,  out  of  mind, 
you  know, — and  when  it 's  clean  done,  and  can't  be 
helped,  they  naturally  gets  used  to  it.  'Tan't,  you 
know,  as  if  it  was  white  folks,  that 's  brought  up  in 
the  way  of  'spectin'  to  keep  their  children  and  wives, 
and  all  that.  Niggers,  you  know,  that 's  fetched  up 
properly,  ha'n't  no  kind  of  'spectations  of  no  kind ; 
so  all  these  things  comes  easier." 

"  I  'm  afraid  mine  are  not  properly  brought  up, 
then,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  S'pose  not ;  you  Kentucky  folks  spile  your 
niggers.  You  mean  well  by  'em,  but  'tan't  no  real 
kindness,  arter  all.  Now,  a  nigger,  you  see,  what 's 
got  to  be  hacked  and  tumbled  round  the  world,  and 
sold  to  Tom,  and  Dick,  and  the  Lord  knows  who, 
*tan't  no  kindness  to  be  givin'  on  him  notions  and 
expectations,  and  bringin'  on  him  up  too  well,  for 
the  rough  and  tumble  comes  all  the  harder  on  him 
arter.  Now,  I  venture  to  say,  your  niggers  would 
be  quite  chop-fallen  in  a  place  where  some  of  your 
plantation  niggers  would  be  singing  and  whooping 
like  all  possessed.  Every  man,  you  know,  Mr. 
Shelby,  naturally  thinks  well  of  his  own  ways ;  and 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  II 

i  think  I  treat  niggers  just  about  as  well  as  it 's  ever 
worth  while  to  treat  'em." 

"  It 's  a  happy  thing  to  be  satisfied,"  said  Mr. 
Shelby,  with  a  slight  shrug,  and  some  perceptible 
feelings  of  a  disagreeable  nature. 

"  Well,"  said  Haley,  after  they  had  both  silently 
picked  their  nuts  for  a  season,  "  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  '11  think  the  matter  over,  and  talk  with  my 
wife,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "  Meantime,  Haley,  if  you 
want  the  matter  carried  on  in  the  quiet  way  you 
speak  of,  you  'd  best  not  let  your  business  in  this 
neighborhood  be  known.  It  will  get  out  among  my 
boys/and  it  will  not  be  a  particularly  quiet  business 
getting  away  any  of  my  fellows,  if  they  know  it,  I  '11 
promise  you." 

"  O  !  certainly,  by  all  means,  mum  !  of  course. 
But  I  '11  tell  you,  I  'm  in --a  devil  of  a  hurry,  and  shall 
want  to  know,  as  soon  as  possible,  what  I  may 
4  depend  on,"  said  he,  rising  and  putting  on  his  over- 
coat. 

"  Well,  call  up  this  evening,  between  six  and 
seven,  and  you  shall  have  my  answer,"  said  Mr. 
Shelby,  and  the  trader  bowed  himself  out  of  the 
apartment. 

"  I  'd  like  to  have  been  able  to  kick  the  fellow 
down  the  steps,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  saw  the 
door  fairly  closed,  "  with  his  impudent  assurance  ; 
but  he  knows  how  much  he  has  me  at  advantage. 
If  anybody  had  ever  said  to  me  that  I  should  sell 
Tom  down  south  to  one  of  those  rascally  traders,  I 
should  have  said,  'Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he 
should  do  this  thing  ? '  And  now  it  must  come,  for 
aught  I  see.  And  Eliza's  child,  too  I  I  know  that 
I  shall  have  some  fuss  with  wife  about  that ;  and, 
for  that  matter,  about  Tom,  too.  So  much  for  be- 
3 


12  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

ing  in  debt, — heigho  !  The  fellow  sees  his  advan- 
tage, and  means  to  push  it." 

Perhaps  the  mildest  form  of  the  system  of  slav- 
ery is  to  be  seen  in  the  State  of  Kentucky.  The 
general  prevalence  of  agricultural  pursuits  of  a  quiet 
and  gradual  nature,  not  requiring  those  periodic 
seasons  of  hurry  and  pressure  that  are  called  for  in 
the  business  of  more  southern  districts,  makes  the 
task  of  the  negro  a  more  healthful  and  reasonable 
one  ;  while  the  master,  content  with  a  more  gradual 
style  of  acquisition,  has  not  those  temptations  to 
hard-heartedness  which  always  overcome  frail  hu- 
man nature  when  the  prospect  of  sudden  and  rapid 
gain  is  weighed  in  the  balance,  with  no  heavier 
counterpoise  than  the  interests  of  the  helpless  and 
unprotected. 

Whoever  visits  some  estates  there,  and  witnesses 
the  good-humored  indulgence  of  some  masters  and 
mistresses,  and  the  affectionate  loyalty  of  some 
slaves,  might  be  tempted  to  dream  the  oft-fabled 
poetic  legend  of  a  patriarchal  institution,  and  all 
that ;  but  over  and  above  the  scene  there  broods  a 
portentous  shadow — the  shadow  of  law.  So  long 
as  the  law  considers  all  these  human  beings,  with 
beating  hearts  and  living  affections,  only  as  so  many 
things  belonging  to  a  master, — so  long  as  the  fail- 
ure, or  misfortune,  or  imprudence,  or  death  of  the 
kindest  owner,  may  cause  them  any  day  to  exchange 
a  life  of  kind  protection  and  indulgence  for  one  of 
hopeless  misery  and  toil, — so  long  it  is  impossible 
to  make  anything  beautiful  or  desirable  in  the  best 
regulated  administration  of  slavery. 

Mr.  Shelby  was  a  fair  average  kind  of  man,  good- 
natured  and  kindly,  and  disposed  to  easy  indulgence 
of  those  around  him,  and  there  had  never  been  a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  13 

lack  of  anything  which  might  contribute  to  the 
physical  comfort  of  the  negroes  on  his  estate.  He 
had,  however,  speculated  largely  and  quite  loosely; 
had  involved  himself  deeply,  and  his  notes  to  a  large 
amount  had  come  into  the  hands  of  Haley ;  and  this 
small  piece  of  information  is  the  key  to  the  preced- 
ing conversation. 

Now,  it  had  so  happened  that,  in  approaching  the 
door,  Eliza  had  caught  enough  of  the  conversation 
to  know  that  a  trader  was  making  offers  to  her  master 
for  somebody. 

She  would  gladly  have  stopped  at  the  door  to  lis- 
ten, as  she  came  out ;  but  her  mistress  just  then 
calling,  she  was  obliged  to  hasten  away. 

Still  she  thought  she  heard  the  trader  make  an 
offer  for  her  boy  ; — could  she  be  mistaken  ?  Her 
heart  swelled  and  throbbed,  and  she  involuntarily 
strained  him  so  tight  that  the  little  fellow  looked  up 
into  her  face  in  astonishment. 

*'  Eliza,  girl,  what  ails  you  to-day  ? "  said  her  mis- 
tress, when  Eliza  had  upset  the  wash-pitcher, 
knocked  down  the  work-stand,  and  finally  was  ab- 
stractedly offering  her  mistress  a  long  night-gown 
in  place  of  the  silk  dress  she  had  ordered  her  to 
bring  from  the  wardrobe. 

Eliza  started.  "  O,  missis  !  "  she  said,  raising 
her  eyes  ;  then,  bursting  into  tears,  she  sat  down  in 
a  chair  and  began  sobbing. 

"  Why,  Eliza,  child  !  what  ails  you  ? "  said  her 
mistress. 

"  O  !  missis,  missis,"  said  Eliza,  "there  's  been  a 
trader  talking  with  master  in  the  parlor  !  I  heard 
him." 

"  Well,  silly  child,  suppose  there  has." 

"  O,  missis,  do  you  suppose  mas'r  would  sell  my 


14  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :   OR, 

Harry?"  And  the  poor  creature  threw  herself 
into  a  chair,  and  sobbed  convulsively. 

"  Sell  him  !  No,  you  foolish  girl !  You  know 
your  master  never  deals  with  those  southern  traders, 
and  never  means  to  sell  any  of  his  servants,  as  long 
as  they  behave  well.  Why,  you  silly  child,  who  do 
you  think  would  want  to  buy  your  Harry  ?  Do  you 
think  all  the  world  are  set  on  him  as  you  are,  you 
goosie  ?  Come,  cheer  up,  and  hook  my  dress. 
There  now,  put  my  back  hair  up  in  that  pretty 
braid  you  learnt  the  other  day,  and  don't  go  listen- 
ing at  doors  any  more." 

"  Well,  but,  missis,  you  never  would  give  your 
consent — to — to — " 

"  Nonsense,  child !  to  be  sure,  I  should  n't. 
What  do  you  talk  so  for  ?  I  would  as  soon  have 
one  of  my  own  children  sold.  But  really,  Eliza, 
you  are  getting  altogether  too  proud  of  that  little 
fellow.  A  man  can't  put  his  nose  into  the  door, 
but  you  think  he  must  be  coming  to  buy  him." 

Reassured  by  her  mistress'  confident  tone,  Eliza 
proceeded  nimbly  and  adroitly  with  her  toilet,  laugh- 
ing at  her  own  fears,  as  she  proceeded. 

Mrs.  Shelby  was  a  woman  of  a  high  class,  both 
intellectually  and  morally.  To  that  natural  mag- 
nanimity and  generosity  of  mind  which  one  often 
marks  as  characteristic  of  the  women  of  Kentucky, 
she  added  high  moral  and  religious  sensibility  and 
principle,  carried  out  with  great  energy  and  ability 
into  practical  results.  Her  husband,  who  made  no 
professions  to  any  particular  religious  character, 
nevertheless  reverenced  and  respected  the  consist- 
ency of  hers,  and  stood,  perhaps,  a  little  in  awe  of 
her  opinion.  Certain  it  was  that  he  gave  her  un- 
limited scope  in  all  her  benevolent  efforts  for  the 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 5 

comfort,  instruction,  and  improvement  of  'her  serv- 
ants, though  he  never  took  any  decided  part  in  them 
himself.  In  fact,  if  not  exactly  a  believer  in  the 
doctrine  of  the  efficiency  of  the  extra  good  works  of 
saints,  he  really  seemed  somehow  or  other  to  fancy 
that  his  wife  had  piety  and  benevolence  enough  for 
two — to  indulge  a  shadowy  expectation  of  getting 
into  heaven  through  her  superabundance  of  qualities 
to  which  he  made  no  particular  pretension. 

The  heaviest  load  on  his  mind,  after  his  conver- 
sation with  the  trader,  lay  in  the  foreseen  necessity 
of  breaking  to  his  wife  the  arrangement  contemplated, 
— meeting  the  importunities  and  opposition  which 
he  knew  he  should  have  reason  to  encounter. 

Mrs.  Shelby,  being  entirely  ignorant  of  her 
husband's  embarrassments,  and  knowing  only  the 
general  kindliness  of  his  temper,  had  been  quite 
sincere  in  the  entire  incredulity  with  which  she  had 
met  Eliza's  suspicions.  In  fact,  she  dismissed  the 
matter  from  her  mind,  without  a  second  thought ; 
and  being  occupied  in  preparations  for  an  evening 
visit,  it  passed  out  of  her  thoughts  entirely. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    MOTHER. 

Eliza  had  been  brought  up  by  her  mistress,  from 
girlhood,  as  a  petted  and  indulged  favorite. 

The  traveller  in  the  south  must  often  have  re- 
marked that  peculiar  air  of  refinement,  that  softness 
of  voice  and  manner,  which  seems  in  many  cases  to  be 
a  particular  gift  to  the  quadroon  and  mulatto  women. 
These  natural  graces  in  the  quadroon  are  often 
united  with  beauty  of  the  most  dazzling  kind,  and  in 


1 6  UNCLE  tom's   cabin  :   OR, 

almost  every  case  with  a  personal  appearance  pre- 
possessing and  agreeable.  Eliza,  such  as  we  have 
described  her,  is  not  a  fancy  sketch,  but  taken  from 
remembrance,  as  we  saw  her,  years  ago,  in  Kentucky. 
Safe  under  the  protecting  care  of  her  mistress,  Eliza 
had  reached  maturity  without  those  temptations 
which  make  beauty  so  fatal  an  inheritance  to  a 
slave.  She  had  been  married  to  a  bright  and  tal- 
ented young  mulatto  man,  who  was  a  slave  on  a 
neighboring  estate,  and  bore  the  name  of  George 
Harris. 

This  young  man  had  been  hired  out  by  his  mas- 
ter to  work  in  a  bagging  factory,  where  his  adroit- 
ness and  ingenuity  caused  him  to  be  considered  the 
first  hand  in  the  place.  He  had  invented  a  machine 
for  the  cleaning  of  the  hemp,  which,  considering  the 
education  and  circumstances  of  the  inventor,  dis- 
played quite  as  much  mechanical  genius  as  Whitney's 
cotton-gin.* 

He  was  possessed  of  a  handsome  person  and 
pleasing  manners,  and  was  a  general  favorite  in  the 
factory.  Nevertheless,  as  this  young  man  was  in 
the  eye  of  ;the  law  not  a  man,  but  a  thing,  all  these 
superior  qualifications  were  subject  to  the  control  of 
a  vulgar,  narrow-minded,  tyrannical  master.  This 
same  gentleman,  having  heard  of  the  fame  of 
George's  invention,  took  a  ride  over  to  the  factory, 
to  see  what  this  intelligent  chattel  had  been  about. 
He  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm  by  the  em- 
ployer, who  congratulated  him  on  possessing  so 
valuable  a  slave. 

He  was  waited  upon  over  the  factory,  shown  the 
machinery  by  George,  who,  in  high  spirits,  talked  so 

*  A  machine  of  this  description  was  really  the  invention  of  a  young  colored 
man  in  Kentucky. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 7 

fluently,  held  himself  so  erect,  looked  so  handsome 
and  manly,  that  his  master  began  to  feel  an  uneasy 
consciousness  of  inferiority.  What  business  had 
his  slave  to  be  marching  round  the  country,  invent- 
ing machines,  and  holding  up  his  head  among 
gentlemen  ?  He  'd  soon  put  a  stop  to  it.  He  'd  take 
him  back,  and  put  him  to  hoeing  and  digging,  and 
" see  if  he'd  step  about  so  smart."  Accordingly, 
the  manufacturer  and  all  hands  concerned  were 
astounded  when  he  suddenly  demanded  George's 
wages,  and  announced  his  intention  of  taking  him 
home. 

"  But,  Mr.Harris,"  remonstrated  the  manufacturer, 
"  is  n't  this  rather  sudden  ?  " 

"  What  if  it  is  ? — is  n't  the  man  mi?ie  ?  " 

"  We  would  be  willing,  sir,  to  increase  the  rate  of 
compensation." 

"  No  object  at  all,  sir.  I  don't  need  to  hire  any 
of  my  hands  out,  unless  I  've  a  mind  to." 

"  But,  sir,  he  seems  peculiarly  adapted  to  this 
business." 

"  Dare  say  he  may  be  ;  never  was  much  adapted 
to  anything  that  I  set  him  about,  I  '11  be  bound." 

"  But  only  think  of  his  inventing  this  machine," 
interposed  one  of  the  workmen,  rather  unluckily. 

"  O  yes  ! — a  machine  for  saving  work,  is  it  ?  He  'd 
invent  that,  I  '11  be  bound  ;  let  a  nigger  alone  for 
that,  any  time.  They  are  all  labor-saving  machines 
themselves,  every  one  of  'em.     No,  he  shall  tramp  !  " 

George  had  stood  like  one  transfixed,  at  hearing 
his  doom  thus  suddenly  pronounced  by  a  power 
that  he  knew  was  irresistible.  He  folded  his  arms, 
tightly  pressed  in  his  lips,  but  a  whole  volcano  of 
bitter  feelings  burned  in  his  bosom,  and  sent  streams 
of  fire  through  his  veins.   He  breathed  short,  and  his 


18  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

large  dark  eyes  flashed  like  live  coals ;  and  he 
might  have  broken  out  into  some  dangerous  ebulli- 
tion, had  not  the  kindly  manufacturer  touched  him 
on  the  arm,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Give  way,  George  ;  go  with  him  for  the  present. 
We  '11  try  to  help  you,  yet." 

The  tyrant  observed  the  whisper,  and  conjectured 
its  import,  though  he  could  not  hear  what  was  said ; 
and  he  inwardly  strengthened  himself  in  his  deter- 
mination to  keep  the  power  he  possessed  over  his 
victim. 

George  was  taken  home,  and  put  to  the  meanest 
drudgery  of  the  farm.  He  had  been  able  to  repress 
every  disrespectful  word ;  but  the  flashing  eye,  the 
gloomy  and  troubled  brow,  were  part  of  a  natural 
language  that  could  not  be  repressed, — indubitable 
signs,  which  showed  too  plainly  that  the  man  could 
not  become  a  thing. 

It  was  during  the  happy  period  of  his  employment 
in  the  factory  that  George  had  seen  and  married  his 
wife.  During  that  period, — being  much  trusted  and 
favored  by  his  employer, — he  had  free  liberty  to 
come  and  go  at  discretion.  The  marriage  was 
highly  approved  of  by  Mrs.  Shelby,  who,  with  a 
little  womanly  complacency  in  match-making,  felt 
pleased  to  unite  her  handsome  favorite  with  one  of 
her  own  class  who  seemed  in  every  way  suited  to 
her;  and  so  they  were  married  in  her  mistress' 
great  parlor,  and  her  mistress  herself  adorned  the 
bride's  beautiful  hair  with  orange-blossoms,  and 
threw  over  it  the  bridal  veil,  which  certainly  could 
scarce  have  rested  on  a  fairer  head  ;  and  there  was 
no  lack  of  white  gloves,  and  cake  and  wine, — of 
admiring  guests  to  praise  the  bride's  beauty,  and 
her  mistress'  indulgence  and  liberality.     For  a  year 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  I.g» 

or  two  Eliza  saw  her  husband  frequently,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  interrupt  their  happiness,  except  the 
loss  of  two  infant  children,  to  whom  she  was  pas- 
sionately attached,  and  whom  she  mourned  with' a 
grief  so  intense  as  to  call  for  gentle  remonstrance 
from  her  mistress,  who  sought,  with  maternal  anxietyy 
to  direct  her  naturally  passionate  feelings  within  the 
bounds  of  reason  and  religion. 

After  the  birth  of  little  Harry,  however,  she  had 
gradually  become  tranquillized  and  settled ;  and 
every  bleeding  tie  and  throbbing  nerve,  once  more 
entwined  with  that  little  life,  seemed  to  become 
sound  and  healthful,  and  Eliza  was  a  happy  woman 
up  to  the  time  that  her  husband  was  rudely  torn 
from  his  kind  employer,  and  brought  under  the  iron 
sway  of  his  legal  owner. 

The  manufacturer,  true  to  his  word,  visited  Mr. 
Harris  a  week  or  two  after  George  had  been  taken 
away,  when,  as  he  hoped,  the  heat  of  the  occasion 
had  passed  away,  and  tried  every  possible  induce- 
ment to  lead  him  to  restore  him  to  his  former  em- 
ployment. 

"  You  need  n't  trouble  yourself  to  talk  any  longer," 
said  he,  doggedly  ;  "  I  know  my  own  business,  sir." 

"  I  did  not  presume  to  interfere  with  it,  sir.  I 
only  thought  that  you  might  think  it  for  your  interest 
to  let  your  man  to  us  on  the  terms  proposed." 

"  O,  I  understand  the  matter  well  enough.  I  saw 
your  winking  and  whispering,  the  day  I  took  him 
out  of  the  factory  ;  but  you  don't  come  it  over  me 
that  way.  It 's  a  free  country,  sir;  the  man  's  miney 
and  I  do  what  I  please  with  him, — that 's  it ! " 

And  so  fell  George's  last  hope  ; — nothing  before 
him  but  a  life  of  toil  and  drudgery,  rendered  more 


20  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

bitter  by  every  little  smarting  vexation  and  indignity 
which  tyrannical  ingenuity  could  devise. 

A  very  humane  jurist  once  said,  The  worst  use 
you  can  put  a  man  to  is  to  hang  him.  No  ;  there 
is  another  use  that  a  man  can  be  put  to  that  is 
worse  ! 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  HUSBAND  AND  FATHER. 

Mrs.  Shelby  had  gone  on  her  visit,  and  Eliza 
stood  in  the  verandah,  rather  dejectedly  looking 
after  the  retreating  carriage,  when  a  hand  was  laid 
on  her  shoulder.  She  turned,  and  a  bright  smile 
lighted  up  her  fine  eyes. 

"  George,  is  it  you  ?  How  you  frightened  me  ! 
Well ;  I  am  so  glad  you  's  come  !  Missis  is  gone 
to  spend  the  afternoon ;  so  come  into  my  little 
room,  and  we  '11  have  the  time  all  to  ourselves." 

Saying  this,  she  drew  him  into  a  neat  little  apart- 
ment opening  on  the  verandah,  where  she  generally 
sat  at  her  sewing,  within  call  of  her  mistress. 

"  How  glad  I  am  ! — why  don't  you  smile  ? — and 
look  at  Harry — how  he  grows."  The  boy  stood 
shyly  regarding  his  father  through  his  curls,  holding 
close  to  the  skirts  of  his  mother's  dress.  "  Is  n't  he 
beautiful  ? "  said  Eliza,  lifting  his  long  curls  and 
Tossing  him. 

"  I  wish  he  'd  never  been  born  !  "  said  George, 
bitterly.     "  I  wish  I  'd  never  been  born  myself !  " 

Surprised  and  frightened,  Eliza  sat  down,  leaned 
her  head  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  There  now,  Eliza,  it 's  too  bad  for  me  to  make 
you  feel  so,  poor  girl  !  "  said  he.  fondly  ;  "  it 's  too 


LIFE    AMOIS^    THE    LOWLY.  21 

t>ad.  O,  how  I  wish  you  never  had  seen  me — you 
might  have  been  happy  !  " 

"  George  !  George  !  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  What 
dreadful  thing  has  happened,  or  is  going  to  happen  ? 
I  'm  sure  we  've  been  very  happy,  till  lately." 

"  So  we  have,  dear,"  said  George.  Then  draw- 
ing his  child  on  his  knee,  he  gazed  intently  on  his 
glorious  dark  eyes,  and  passed  his  hand  through 
his  long  curls. 

"  Just  like  you,  Eliza  ;  and  you  are  the  hand- 
somest woman  I  ever  saw,  and  the  best  one  I  ever 
wish  to  see ;  but,  oh,  I  wish  I  'd  never  seen  you, 
nor  you  me  !  " 

"  O,  George,  how  can  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  Eliza,  it  's  all  misery,  misery,  misery  !  My 
life  is  bitter  as  wormwood  ;  the  very  life  is  burning 
out  of  me.  I  'm  a  poor,  miserable,  forlorn  drudge  ; 
I  shall  only  drag  you  down  with  me,  that  's  all. 
What  's  the  use  of  our  trying  to  do  anything,  trying 
to  know  anything,  trying  to  be  anything  ?  What  's 
the  use  of  living  ?     I  wish  I  was  dead  !  " 

"  O,  now,  dear  George,  that  is  really  wicked  !  I 
"know  how  you  feel  about  losing  your  place  in  the 
factory,  and  you  have  a  hard  master  ;  but  pray  be 
patient,  and  perhaps  something —  " 

"  Patient !  "  said  he  interrupting  her  ;  "  have  n't 
I  been  patient  ?  Did  I  say  a  word  when  he  came 
and  took  me  away,  for  no  earthly  reason,  from  the 
place  where  everybody  was  kind  to  me  ?  I  'd  paid 
him  truly  every  cent  of  my  earnings, — and  they  all 
say  I  worked  well." 

"  Well,  it  is  dreadful,"  said  Eliza  ;  "  but,  after  all, 
lie  is  your  master,  you  know." 

"  My  master  !  and  who  made  him  my  master  ? 
That 's  what  I  think  of — what  right  has  he  to  me  ? 


22  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  I    OR, 

I  'm  a  man  as  much  as  he  is.  I  'm  a  better  man  than 
he  is.  I  know  more  about  business  than  he  does  ; 
I  am  a  better  manager  than  he  is  ;  I  can  read  better 
than  he  can  ;  I  can  write  a  better  hand, — and  I  've 
learned  it  all  myself,  and  no  thanks  to  him, — I  've 
learned  it  in  spite  of  him  ;  ,and  now  what  right  has 
he  to  make  a  dray-horse  of  me  ? — to  take  me  from 
things  I  can  do,  and  do  better  than  he  can,  and  put 
me  to  work  that  any  horse  can  do  ?  He  tries  to  do 
it ;  he  says  he  '11  bring  me  down  and  humble  me, 
and  he  puts  me  to  just  the  hardest,  meanest  and 
dirtiest  work,  on  purpose  !  " 

'*  O,  George  !  George  !  you  frighten  me  !  Why, 
I  never  heard  you  talk  so  ;  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  do 
something  dreadful.  I  don't  wonder  at  your  feel- 
ings, at  all ;  but  oh,  do  be  careful — do,  do — for  my 
sake — for  Harry's  !  " 

"  I  have  been  careful,  and  I  have  been  patient, 
but  it 's  growing  worse  and  worse  ;  flesh  and  blood 
can't  bear  it  any  longer ; — every  chance  he  can  get 
to  insult  and  torment  me,  he  takes.  I  thought  I 
could  do  my  work  well,  and  keep  on  quiet,  and  have 
some  time  to  read  and  learn  out  of  work  hours ;  but 
the  more  he  sees  I  can  do,  the  more  he  loads  on. 
He  says  that  though  I  don't  say  anything,  he  sees 
I  've  got  the  devil  in  me,  and  he  means  to  bring  it 
out ;  and  one  of  these  days  it  will  come  out  in  a 
way  that  he  won't  like,  or  I  'm  mistaken  !  " 

"  O  dear  !  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Eliza,  mourn- 
fully. 

"  It  was  only  yesterday,"  said  George,  "  as  I  was 
busy  loading  stones  into  a  cart  that  young  Mas'r 
Tom  stood  there,  slashing  his  whip  so  near  the  horse 
that  the  creature  was  frightened.  I  asked  him  to  stop, 
as  pleasant  as  I  could, — he  just  kept  right  on.     I 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  23 

begged  him  again,  and  then  he  turned  on  me,  and 
began  striking  me.  I  held  his  hand,  and  then  he 
screamed  and  kicked  and  ran  to  his  father,  and  told 
him  that  I  was  fighting  him.  He  came  in  a  rage, 
and  said  he  'd  teach  me  who  was  my  master  ;  and  he 
tied  me  to  a  tree,  and  cut  switches  for  young  master, 
and  told  him  that  he  might  whip  me  till  he  was 
tired ;— and  he  did  do  it  !  If  I  don't  make  him 
remember  it,  some  time  ! "  and  the  brow  of  the 
young  man  grew  dark,  and  his  eyes  burned  with  an 
expression  that  made  his  young  wife  tremble. 
"  Who  made  this  man  my  master  ?  That 's  what  I 
want  to  know  !  "  he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  Eliza,  mournfully,  "  I  always  thought 
that  I  must  obey  my  master  and  mistress,  or  I 
couldn  't  be  a  Christian." 

"  There  is  some  sense  in  it,  in  your  case ;  they 
bave  brought  you  up  like  a  child,  fed  you,  clothed 
you,  indulged  you,  and  taught  you,  so  that  you  have 
a  good  education  ;  that  is  some  reason  why  they 
should  claim  you.  But  I  have  been  kicked  and 
cuffed  and  sworn  at,  and  at  the  best  only  let  alone  ; 
and  what  do  I  owe  ?  I  've  paid  for  all  my  keeping 
a  hundred  times  over.  I  wortt  bear  it.  No,  I 
■won't  /"  he  said,  clenching  his  hand  with  a  fierce 
frown. 

Eliza  trembled,  and  was  silent.  She  had  never 
seen  her  husband  in  this  mood  before  ;  and  her 
gentle  system  of  ethics  seemed  to  bend  like  a  reed 
in  the  surges  of  such  passions. 

"  You  know  poor  little  Carlo,  that  you  gave  me," 
added  George  ;  "  the  creature  has  been  about  all  the 
■comfort  that  I  've  had.  He  has  slept  with  me  nights, 
and  followed  me  around  davs,  and  kind  o'  looked  at 
•me  as  if  he  understood  how  I  felt.     Well,  the  other 


24  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

day  I  was  just  feeding  him  with  a  few  old  scraps  I 
picked  up  by  the  kitchen  door,  and  Mas'r  came 
along,  and  said  I  was  feeding  him  up  at  his  expense, 
and  that  he  could  n't  afford  to  have  every  nigger 
keeping  his  dog,  and  ordered  me  to  tie  a  stone  to 
his  neck  and  throw  him  in  the  pond." 

"  O,  George,  you  did  n't  do  it ! " 

"  Do  it  ?  not  I !— but  he  did.  Mas'r  and  Tom 
pelted  the  poor  drowning  creature  with  stones.  Poor 
thing !  he  looked  at  me  so  mournful,  as  if  he  won- 
dered why  I  did  n't  save  him.  I  had  to  take  a  flog- 
ging because  I  would  n't  do  it  myself.  I  don't  care. 
Mas'r  will  find  out  that  I  'm  one  that  whipping  won't 
tame.      My  day  will  come  yet,  if  he  don't  look  out." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  O,  George,  don't 
do  anything  wicked  ;  if  you  only  trust  in  God,  and 
try  to  do  right,  he'll  deliver  you." 

"  I  an't  a  Christian  like  you,  Eliza  ;  my  heart 's 
full  of  bitterness  ;  I  can't  trust  in  God.  Why  does 
he  let  things  be  so  ?  " 

"  O,  George,  we  must  have  faith.  Mistress  says 
that  when  all  things  go  wrong  to  us,  we  must  be- 
lieve that  God  is  doing  the  very  best." 

"  That 's  easy  to  say  for  people  that  are  sitting 
on  their  sofas  and  riding  in  their  carriages  ;  but  let 
'em  be  where  I  am,  I  guess  it  would  come  some 
harder.  I  wish  I  could  be  good;  but  my  heart 
burns,  and  can't  be  reconciled,  anyhow.  You 
could  n't,  in  my  place, — you  can't  now,  if  I  tell  you 
all  I  've  got  to  say.     You  don't  know  the  whole  yet." 

"  What  can  be  coming  now  ?  " 

"  Well,  lately  Mas'r  has  been  saying  that  he  was 
a  fool  to  let  me  marry  off  the  place  ;  that  he  hates 
Mr.  Shelby  and  all  his  tribe,  because  they  are  proud, 
and  hold  their  heads  up  above  him,  and  that  I  've 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  25 

got  proud  notions  from  you ;  and  he  says  he  won't 
let  me  come  here  any  more,  and  that  I  shall  take  a 
wife  and  settle  down  on  his  place.  At  first  he  only 
scolded  and  grumbled  these  things  ;  but  yesterday 
he  told  me  that  I  should  take  Mina  for  a  wife,  and 
settle  down  in  a  cabin  with  her,  or  he  would  sell  me 
down  river." 

"  Why — but  you  were  married  to  me,  by  the 
minister,  as  much  as  if  you  'd  been  a  white  man  !  " 
said  Eliza,  simply. 

"  Don't  you  know  a  slave  can't  be  married  ? 
There  is  no  law  in  this  country  for  that ;  I  can't 
hold  you  for  my  wife,  if  he  chooses  to  part  us. 
That 's  why  I  wish  I  'd  never  seen  you, — why  I  wish 
I  'd  never  been  born  ;  it  would  have  been  better  for 
us  both, — it  would  have  been  better  for  this  poor 
child  if  he  had  never  been  born.  All  this  may  hap- 
pen to  him  yet !  " 

"  O,  but  master  is  so  kind  ! " 

"  Yes,  but  who  knows  ? — he  may  die — and  then 
he  may  be  sold  to  nobody  knows  who.  What  pleas- 
ure is  it  that  he  is  handsome,  and  smart,  and 
bright  ?  I  tell  you,  Eliza,  that  a  sword  will  pierce 
through  your  soul  for  every  good  and  pleasant  thing 
your  child  is  or  has ;  it  will  make  him  worth  too 
much  for  you  to  keep  ! 

The  words  smote  heavily  on  Eliza's  .heart ;  the 
vision  of  the  trader  came  before  her  eyes,  and,  as 
if  some  one  had  struck  her  a  deadly  blow,  she 
turned  pale  and  gasped  for  breath.  She  looked 
nervously  out  on  the  verandah,  where  the  boy,  tired 
of  the  grave  conversation,  had  retired,  and  where 
he  was  riding  triumphantly  up  and  down  on  Mr. 
Shelby's  walking-stick.  She  would  have  spoken  to 
tell  her  husband  her  fears,  but  checked  herself. 


26  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  No,  no, — he  has  enough  to  bear,  poor  fellow  !  " 
she  thought  "  No,  I  won't  tell  him  ;  besides,  it 
an't  true  ;  Missis  never  deceives  us." 

"  So,  Eliza,  my  girl,"  said  the  husband,  mourn- 
fully, "bear  up,  now;  and  good-by,  for  I  'm 
going. '! 

"  Going,  George  !     Going  where  ?  " 

"  To  Canada,"  said  he,  straightening  himself  up, 
u  and  when  I  'm  there,  I  '11  buy  you  ;  that 's  all  the 
hope  that 's  left  us.  You  have  a  kind  master,  that 
won't  refuse  to  sell  you.  I  '11  buy  you  and  the  boy  ■ — 
God  helping  me,  I  will !  " 

"  O,  dreadful !  if  you  should  be  taken  ?  " 

"  I  won't  be  taken,  Eliza  ;  I'  11  die  first !  I'  11  be 
free,  or  I  '11  die  !  " 

■f  You  won't  kill  yourself  !  " 

"  No  need  of  that.  They  will  kill  me,  fast  enough ; 
they  never  will  get  me  down  the  river  alive  !  " 

"  O,  George,  for  my  sake,  do  be  careful !  Don't 
do  anything  wicked ;  don't  lay  hands  on  yourself, 
or  anybody  else  !  You  are  tempted  too  much — too 
much  ;  but  don't — go  you  must — but  go  carefully, 
prudently;  pray  God  to  help  you." 

"  Well,  then,  Eliza,  hear  my  plan.  Mas'r  took  it 
into  his  head  to  send  me  right  by  here,  with  a  note 
to  Mr.  Symmes,  that  lives  a  mile  past.  I  believe 
he  expected  I  should  come  here  to  tell  you  what  I 
have.  It  would  please  him,  if  he  thought  it  would 
aggravate  '  Shelby's  folks,'  as  he  calls  'em.  I  'm 
going  home  quite  resigned,  you  understand,  as  if  all 
was  over.  I  Ve  got  some  preparations  made, — and 
there  are  those  that  will  help  me  ;  and,  in  the  course 
of  a  week  or  so,  I  shall  be  among  the  missing,  some 
day.  Pray  for  me,  Eliza ;  perhaps  the  good  Lord 
will  hear  you." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  27 

"  O,  pray  yourself,  George,  and  go  trusting  in 
him ;  then  you  won't  do  anything  wicked." 

"  Well,  now,  good-by,"  said  George,  holding  Eliza's 
liands,  and  gazing  into  her  eyes,  without  moving. 
They  stood  silent ;  then  there  were  last  words,  and 
sobs,  and  bitter  weeping, — such  parting  as  those 
may  make  whose  hope  to  meet  again  is  as  the 
spider's  web. — and  the  husband  and  wife  were 
parted. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

AN  EVENING  IN  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN. 

The  cabin  of  Uncle  Tom  was  a  small  log  building, 
■close  adjoining  to  "  the  house,"  as  the  negro  par 
,excelk?ice  designates  his  master's  dwelling.  In  front 
it  had  a  neat  garden-patch,  where,  every  summer, 
strawberries,  raspberries,  and  a  variety  of  fruits  and 
vegetables,  flourished  under  careful  tending.  The 
whole  front  of  it  was  covered  by  a  large  scarlet  big- 
nonia  and  a  native  multiflora  rose,  which,  entwisting 
and  interlacing,  left  scarce  a  vestige  of  the  rough 
logs  to  be  seen.  Here,  also,  in  summer,  various 
brilliant  annuals,  such  as  marigolds,  petunias,  four- 
o'clocks,  found  an  indulgent  corner  in  which  to  un- 
fold their  splendors,  and  were  the  delight  and  pride 
■of  Aunt  Chloe's  heart. 

Let  us  enter  the  dwelling.  The  evening  meal  at 
the  house  is  over,  and  Aunt  Chloe,  who  presided 
over  its  preparation  as  head  cook,  has  left  to  infe- 
rior officers  in  the  kitchen  the  business  of  clearing 
away  and  washing  dishes,  and  come  out  into  her 
•own  snug  territories,  to  "  get  her  ole  man's  sup- 
per ;  "  therefore,  doubt  not  that  it  is  her  you  see  by 
the  fire,  presiding  with  anxious  interest  over  certain 

4 


28  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

frizzling  items  in  a  stew-pan,  and  anon  with  grave: 
consideration  lifting  the  cover  of  a  bake-kettle,  from 
whence  steam  forth  indubitable  intimations  of 
"  something  good."  A  round,  black,  shining  face- 
is  hers,  so  glossy  as  to  suggest  the  idea  that  she 
might  have  been  washed  over  with  white  of  eggs, 
like  one  of  her  own  tea  rusks.  Her  whole  plump 
countenance  beams  with  satisfaction  and  content- 
ment from  under  her  well-starched  checked  turban, 
bearing  on  it,  however,  if  we  must  confess  it,  a  little 
of  that  tinge  of  self-consciousness  which  becomes- 
the  first  cook  of  the  neighborhood,  as  Aunt  Chloe: 
was  universally  held  and  acknowledged  to  be. 

A  cook  she  certainly  was,  in  the  very  bone  and. 
centre  of  her  soul.  Not  a  chicken  or  turkey  or 
duck  in  the  barn-yard  but  looked  grave  when  they 
saw  her  approaching,  and  seemed  evidently  to  be 
reflecting  on  their  latter  end  ;  and  certain  it  was  that 
she  was  always  meditating  on  trussing,  stuffing  and 
roasting,  to  a  degree  that  was  calculated  to  inspire 
terror  in  any  reflecting  fowl  living.  Her  corn-caker 
in  all  its  varieties  of  hoe-cake,  dodgers,  muffins,  and 
other  species  too  numerous  to  mention,  was  a 
sublime  mystery  to  all  less  practised  compounders  ; 
and  she  would  shake  her  fat  sides  with  honest  pride 
and  merriment,  as  she  would  narrate  the  fruitless 
efforts  that  one  and  another  of  her  compeers  had 
made  to  attain  to  her  elevation. 

The  arrival  of  company  at  the  house,  the  arrang- 
ing of  dinners  and  suppers  "  in  style,"  awoke  all  the 
energies  of  her  soul ;  and  no  sight  was  more  welcome 
to  her  than  a  pile  of  travelling  trunks  launched  on 
the  verandah,  for  then  she  foresaw  fresh  efforts  and 
fresh  triumphs. 

Just  at  present,  however,   Aunt  Chloe  is  looking 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLT.  29 

into  the  bake-pan  :  in  which  congenial  operation  we 
shall  leave  her  till  we  finish  our  picture  of  the 
cottage. 

In  one  corner  of  it  stood  a  bed,  covered  neatly 
with  a  snowy  spread  ;  and  by  the  side  of  it  was  a 
piece  of  carpeting,  of  some  considerable  size.  On 
this  piece  of  carpeting  Aunt  Chloe  took  her  stand, 
as  being  decidedly  in  the  upper  walks  of  life  ;  and 
it  and  the  bed  by  which  it  lay,  and  the  whole  cor-  I 
ner,  in  fact,  were  treated  with  distinguished  consider- 
ation, and  made,  so  far  as  possible,  sacred  from  the 
marauding  inroads  and  desecrations  of  little  folks. 
In  fact,  that  corner  was  the  drawing-room  of  the 
establishment.  In  the  other  corner  was  a  bed  of 
much  humbler  pretensions,  and  evidently  designed 
for  use.  The  wall  over  the  fireplace  was  adorned 
with  some  very  brilliant  scriptural  prints,  and  a  por- 
trait of  General  Washington,  drawn  and  colored  in 
a  manner  which  would  certainly  have  astonished  that 
hero,  if  ever  he  had  happened  to  meet  with  its  like. 

On  a  rough  bench  in  the  corner,  a  couple  of  woolly- 
headed  boys,  with  glistening  black  eyes  and  fat  shin- 
ing cheeks,  were  busy  in  superintending  the  first 
walking  operations  of  the  baby,  which,  as  is  usually 
the  case,  consisted  in  getting  up  on  its  feet,  balane*- 
ing  a  moment,  and  then  tumbling  down, — each  suc- 
cessive failure  being  violently  cheered,  as  something; 
decidedly  clever. 

A  table,  somewhat  rheumatic  in  its  limbs,  was. 
drawn  out  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  covered  with  a. 
cloth,  displaying  cups  and  saucers  of  a  decidedly 
brilliant  pattern,  with  other  symptoms  of  an  approach- 
ing meal.  At  this  table  was  seated  Uncle  Tom,  Mr. 
Shelby's  best  hand,  who,  as  he  is  to  be  the  hero  off 
our  story,  we  must  daguerreotype  for  our  readers,. 


30  »  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

He  was  a  large,  broad-chested,  powerfully  made  man 
of  a  full  glossy  black,  and  a  face  whose  truly  Afri- 
can features  were  characterized  by  an  expression 
of  grave  and  steady  good  sense,  united  with  much 
kindliness  and  benevolence.  There  was  something 
about  his  whole  air  self-respecting  and  dignified,  yet 
united  with  a  confiding  and  humble  simplicity. 

He  was  very  busily  intent  at  this  moment  on  a 
slate  lying  before  him,  on  which  he  was  carefully 
and  slowly  endeavoring  to  accomplish  a  copy  of  some 
letters,  in  which  operation  he  was  overlooked  by 
young  Mas'r  George,  a  smart,  bright  boy  of  thirteen, 
who  appeared  fully  to  realize  the  dignity  of  his  posi- 
tion as  instructor. 

"  Not  that  way,  Uncle  Tom, — not  that  way,"  said 
he,  briskly,  as  Uncle  Tom  laboriously  brought  up 
the  tail  of  his  g  the  wrong  side  out ;  "  that  makes  a 
q,  you  see." 

"  La  sakes,  now,  does  it  ? "  said  Uncle  Tom,  look- 
ing with  a  respectful,  admiring  air,  as  his  young 
teacher  flourishingly  scrawled  q's  and  g's  innumer- 
able for  his  edification  :  and  then,  taking  the  pencil 
in  his  big,  heavy  fingers,  he  patiently  re-commenced. 

"  How  easy  white  folks  al'us  does  things  !  "  said 
Aunt  Chloe,  pausing  while  she  was  greasing  a  grid- 
dle with  a  scrap  of  bacon  on  her  fork;  and  regarding 
young  Master  George  with  pride.  "The  way  he  can 
write,  now  !  and  read,  too  !  and  then  to  come  out 
here  evenings  and  read  his  lessons  to  us, — it  's 
mighty  interestin'  !  " 

"  But,  Aunt  Chloe,  I  'm  getting  mighty  hungry," 
said  George.  "  Is  n't  that  cake  in  the  skillet  almost 
done  ? " 

"  Mose  done,  Mas'r  George,"  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
lifting  the  lid  and  peeping  in, — "  browning  beautiful 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY./  31 

— a  real  lovely  brown.  Ah  !  let  me  alone  for  dat. 
Missis  let  Sally  try  to  make  some  cake,  t'  other  day,, 
jes  to  lam  her,  she  said,  f  O,  go  'way,  Missis,'  says. 
I ;  *  it  really  hurts  my  feelin's  now,  to  see  good  vit- 
tles  spiled  dat  ar  way  !  Cake  ris  all  to  one  side- 
no  shape  at  all ;  no  more  than  my  shoe  ; — go  'way  ! '  " 

And  with  this  final  expression  of  contempt  for 
Sally's  greenness,  Aunt  Chloe  whipped  the  cover 
off  the  bake-kettle,  and  disclosed  to  view  a  neatly- 
baked  pound-cake,  of  which  no  city  confectioner 
need  to  have  been  ashamed.  This  being  evidently 
the  central  point  of  the  entertainment,  Aunt  Chloe 
began  now  to  bustle  about  earnestly  in  the  supper 
department. 

li  Here  you,  Mose  and  Pete  !  get  out  de  way,  you 
niggers  !  Get  away,  Polly,  honey, — mammy  '11  give 
her  baby  somefin,  by  and  by.  Now,  Mas'r  George,. 
you  jest  take  off  dem  books,  and  set  down  now  with 
my  old  man,  and  I  '11  take  up  de  sausages,  and  have 
de  first  griddle  full  of  cakes  on  your  plates  in  less, 
dan  no  time." 

"  They  wanted  me  to  come  to  supper  in  the  house," 
said  George  ;  "  but  I  knew  what  was  what  too  well 
for  that,  Aunt  Chloe." 

"  So  you  did — so  you  did,  honey,"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  neaping  the  smoking  batter-cakes  on  his 
plate  ;  "  you  know'd  your  old  aunty  'd  keep  the  best 
for  you.  O,  let  you  alone  for  dat !  Go  'way !  "  And, 
with  that,  aunty  gave  George  a  nudge  with  her 
finger,  designed  to  be  immensely  facetious,  and 
turned  again  to  her  griddle  with  great  briskness. 

"  Now  for  the  cake,"  said  Mas'r  George,  when 
the  activity  of  the  griddle  department  had  somewhat 
subsided ;  and,  with  that,  the  youngster  flourished 
a  large  knife  over  the  article  in  question. 


32  UNCLE    TOM-S    CABIN:    OR, 

"  La  bless  you,  Mas'r  George  !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
with  earnestness,  catching  his  arm,  "  you  wouldn't 
be  for  cuttin'  it  wid  dat  ar  great  heavy  knife  ! 
Smash  all  down — spile  all  de  pretty  rise  of  it.  Here, 
I  Ve  got  a  thin  old  knife,  I  keeps  sharp  a  purpose. 
Dar  now,  see  !  comes  apart  light  as  a  feather !  Now 
eat  away — you  won't  get  anything  to  beat  dat  ar." 

"  Tom  Lincon  says,"  said  George,  speaking  with 
his  mouth  full,  "  that  their  Jinny  is  a  better  cook 
than  you." 

"  Dem  Lincons  an't  much  'count,  no  way !  "  said 
Aunt  Chloe,  contemptuously ;  "  I  mean,  set  along 
side  our  folks.  They  's  'spectable  folks  enough  in  a 
kinder  plain  way  ;  but,  as  to  gettin'  up  anything  in 
style,  they  don't  begin  to  have  a  notion  on 't.  Set 
Mas'r  Lincon,  now,  alongside  Mas'r  Shelby !  Good 
Lor  !  and  Missis  Lincon, — can  she  kinder  sweep  it 
into  a  room  like  my  missis, — so  kinder  splendid,  yer 
know !  O,  go  'way  !  don't  tell  me  nothin'  of  dem 
Lincons  !  " — and  Aunt  Chloe  tossed  her  head  as  one 
who  hoped  she  did  know  something  of  the  world. 

"  Well,  though,  I  've  heard  you  say,"  said  George, 
"  that  Jinny  was  a  pretty  fair  cook." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Aunt  Chloe, — "  I  may  say  dat. 
Good,  plain,  common  cookin',  Jinny  '11  do  ; — make  a 
good  pone  o'  bread, — bile  her  titers /ar, — her  corn 
cakes  is  n't  extra,  not  extra  now,  Jinny's  corn  cakes 
is  n't,  but  then  they  's  far, — but,  Lor,  come  to  de 
higher  branches,  and  what  can  she  do  ?  Why,  she 
makes  pies — sartin  she  does ;  but  what  kinder 
crust  ?  Can  she  make  your  real  flecky  paste,  as 
melts  in  your  mouth,  and  lies  all  up  like  a  puff  ? 
Now,  I  went  over  thar  when  Miss  Mary  was  gwine 
to  be  married,  and  Jinny  she  jest  showed  me  de 
weddin'  pies.     Jinny  and  I  is  good  friends,  ye  know. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  $$ 

1  never  said  nothin' ;  but  go  'long,  Mas'r  George ! 
Why,  I  should  n't  sleep  a  wink  for  a  week,  if  I  had 
a  batch  of  pies  like  dem  ar.  Why,  dey  wan't  no 
'count  't  all." 

"  I  suppose  Jinny  thought  they  were  ever  so  nice," 
.said  George. 

"  Thought  so ! — did  n't  she  ?  Thar  she  was, 
showing  'em,  as  innocent — ye  see,  it '  s  jest  here, 
Jinny  don't  know.  Lor,  the  family  an't  nothing  ! 
She  can't  be  spected  to  know  !  'Ta'nt  no  fault  o' 
hern./ Ah,  Mas'r  George,  you  does  n't  know  half 
your  privileges  in  yer  family  and  bringin'  up  ! " 
Here  Aunt  Chloe  sighed,  and  rolled  up  her  eyes 
with  emotion. 

"  I  'm  sure,  Aunt  Chloe,  I  understand  all  my  pie 
and  pudding  privileges,"  said  George.  "  Ask  Tom 
Lincon  if  I  don't  crow  over  him,  every  time  I  meet 
him." 

Aunt  Chloe  sat  back  in  her  chair,  and  indulged 
in  a  hearty  guffaw  of  laughter,  at  this  witticism  of 
young  Mas'r's,  laughing  till  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  black,  shining  cheeks,  and  varying  the  exercise 
with  playfully  slapping  and  poking  Mas'r  Georgey, 
and  telling  him  to  go  'way,  and  that  he  was  a  case — 
that  he  was  fit  to  kill  her,  and  that  he  sartin  would  kill 
lier,  one  of  these  days ;  and,  between  each  of  these 
sanguinary  predictions,  going  off  into  a  laugh,  each 
longer  and  stronger  than  the  other,  till  George  really 
began  to  think  that  he  was  a  very  dangerously  witty 
fellow,  and  that  it  became  him  to  be  careful  how  he 
talked  "  as  funny  as  he  could." 

"  And  so  ye  telled  Tom,  did  ye  ?  O,  Lor  !  what 
young  uns  will  be  up  ter  !  Ye  crowed  over  Tom  ? 
O,  Lor !  Mas'r  George  if  ye  would  n't  make  a  horn- 
bug  laugh  ?  " 


34  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Yes,"  said  George,  "  I  says  to  him,  '  Tom,  you 
ought  to  see  some  of  Aunt  Chloe's  pies  ;  they  're  the 
right  sort,'  says  I." 

"  Pity,  now,  Tom  could  n't,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  on 
whose  benevolent  heart  the  idea  of  Tom's  benighted 
condition  seemed  to  make  a  strong  impression. 
"  Ye  oughter  just  ask  him  here  to  dinner,  some  o' 
these  times,  Mas'r  George,"  she  added  ;  "it  would 
look  quite  pretty  of  ye.  Ye  know,  Mas'r  George, 
ye  oughtenter  feel  'bove  nobody,  on  'count  yer 
privileges,  'cause  all  our  privileges  is  gi'n  to  us  ;  we 
ought  al'ays  to  'member  that,"  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
looking  quite  serious. 

"  Well,  I  mean  to  ask  Tom  here,  some  day  next 
week,"  said  George  ;  "  and  you  do  your  prettiest, 
Aunt  Chloe,  and  we  '11  make  him  stare.  Won't  we 
make  him  eat  so  he  won't  get  over  it  for  a  fort- 
night ?  " 

"  Y^s,  yes — sartin,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  delighted  ; 
"  you  '11  see.  Lor  !  to  think  of  some  of  our  dinners  ! 
Yer  mind  dat  ar  great  chicken  pie  I  made  when  we 
guv  de  dinner  to  General  Knox  ?  I  and  Missis,  we 
came  pretty  near  quarrelling  about  dat  ar  crust. 
What  does  get  into  ladies  sometimes,  I  don't  know ; 
but,  sometimes,  when  a  body  has  de  heaviest  kind 
o'  'sponsibility  on  'em,  as  ye  may  say,  and  is  all 
kinder  '  seris '  and  taken  up,  dey  takes  dat  ar  time 
to  be  hangin'  round  and  kinder  interferin' !  Now, 
Missis,  she  wanted  me  to  do  dis  way,  and  she  wanted 
me  to  do  dat  way ;  and,  finally,  I  got  kinder  sarcy, 
and,  says  I,  '  Now,  Missis,  do  jist  look  at  them 
beautiful  white  hands  o'  yourn,  with  long  fingers, 
and  all  a  sparkling  with  rings,  like  my  white  lilies 
when  de  dew's  on  'em  ;  and  look  at  my  great  black 
stumpin'  hands.     Now,  don't  ye  think  dat  de  Lord 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  35 

must  have  meant  me  to  make  de  pie-crust,  and  you. 
to  stay  in  de  parlor?'  Dar  !  I  was  jist  so  sarcy, 
Mas'r  George." 

"  And  what  did  mother  say  ?  "  said  George. 

"  Say  ? — why,  she  kinder  larfed  in  her  eyes — dem 
great  handsome  eyes  o'  hern  ;  and,  says  she,  '  Well,; 
Aunt  Chloe,  I  think  you  are  about  in  the  right  on  5t,* 
says  she  ;  and  she  went  off  in  de  parlor.  She  ough- 
ter  cracked  me  over  de  dead  for  bein'  so  sarcy  ;  but 
dar  's  whar  't  is — I  can't  do  nothin'  with  ladies  in 
de  kitchen !  " 

"  Well,  you  made  out  well  with  that  dinner, — I 
remember  everybody  said  so,"  said  George. 

"  Did  n't  I  ?  And  wan't  I  behind  de  dinin'-room 
door  dat  bery  day  ?  and  did  n't  I  see  de  General 
pass  his  plate  three  times  for  some  more  dat  bery 
pie  ? — and,  says  he,  ■  You  must  have  an  uncommon 
cook,  Mrs.  Shelby.'  Lor  !  I  was  fit  to  split  my- 
self. 

"  And  de  Gineral,  he  knows  what  cookin'  is,'* 
said  Aunt  Chloe,  drawing  herself  up  with  an  air. 
"  Bery  nice  man,  de  Gineral !  He  comes  of  one  of 
de  bery  fastest  families  in  Old  Virginny  !  He  knows 
what 's  what,  now,  as  well  as  I  do — de  Gineral.  Ye 
see,  there  's  pints  in  all  pies,  Mas'r  George  ;  but 
'tan't  everybody  knows  what  they  is,  or  orter  be. 
But  the  Gineral,  he  knows ;  I  knew  by  his  'marks 
he  made.     Yes,  he  knows  what  de  pints  is  !  " 

By  this  time  Master  George  had  arrived  at  that 
pass  to  which  even  a  boy  can  come  (under  uncom- 
mon circumstances,)  when  he  really  could  not  eat 
another  morsel  and,  therefore,  he  was  at  leisure  to- 
notice  the  pile  of  woolly  heads  and  glistening  eyes; 
which  were  regarding  their  operations  hungrily  front 
the  opposite  corner. 


36  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  Here,  you  Mose,  Pete,"  he  said,  breaking  off 
liberal  bits,  and  throwing  it  at  them ;  "  you  want 
some,  don't  you  ?  Come,  Aunt  Chloe,  bake  them 
some  cakes." 

And  George  and  Tom  moved  to  a  comfortable 
seat  in  the  chimney-corner,  while  Aunt  Chloe,  after 
baking  a  goodly  pile  of  cakes,  took  her  baby  on  her 
lap,  and  began  alternately  filling  its  mouth  and  her 
own,  and  distributing  to  Mose  and  Pete,  who  seemed 
rather  to  prefer  eating  theirs  as  they  rolled  about  on 
the  floor  under  the  table,  tickling  each  other,  and 
occasionally  pulling  the  baby's  toes. 

"  O  J  go  'long,  will  ye  ?  "  said  the  mother,  giving 
now  and  then  a  kick,  in  a  kind  of  general  way, 
under  the  table,  when  the  movement  became  too 
obstreperous.  "  Can't  ye  be  decent  when  white 
folks  comes  to  see  ye  ?  Stop  dat  ar,  now,  will  ye  ? 
Better  mind  yerselves,  or  I  '11  take  ye  down  a  button- 
hole lower,  when  Mas'r  George  is  gone  ! " 

What  meaning  was  couched  under  this  terrible 
threat,  it  is  difficult  to  say ;  but  certain  it  is  that  its 
awful  indistinctness  seemed  to  produce  very  little 
impression  on  the  young  sinners  addressed. 

"  La,  now  !  "  said  Uncle  Tom,  "  they  are  so  full 
of  tickle  all  the  while,  they  can't  behave  theirselves." 

Here  the  boys  emerged  from  under  the  table,  and, 
with  hands  and  faces  well  plastered  with  molasses, 
began  a  vigorous  kissing  of  the  baby. 

"  Get  along  wid  ye  !  "  said  the  mother,  pushing 
away  their  woolly  heads.  "  Ye  '11  all  stick  together, 
and  never  get  clar,  if  ye  do  dat  fashion.  Go  'long  to 
de  spring  and  wash  yerselves  !  "  she  said,  seconding 
her  exhortations  by  a  slap,  which  resounded  very 
formidably,  but  which  seemed  only  to  knock  out  so 
much   more  laugh   from   the  young   ones,  as  they 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  37 

tumbled  precipitately  over  each  other  out  of  doors, 
where  they  fairly  screamed  with  merriment. 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  such  aggravating  young  uns  ? " 
said  Aunt  Chloe,  rather  complacently,  as,  producing 
an  old  towel,  kept  for  such  emergencies,  she  poured 
a  little  water  out  of  the  cracked  tea-pot  on  it,  and 
began  rubbing  off  the  molasses  from  the  baby's  face 
and  hands  ;  and,  having  polished  her  till  she  shone, 
she  set  her  down  in  Tom's  lap,  while  she  busied 
'  herself  in  clearing  away  supper.  The  baby  em- 
ployed the  intervals  in  pulling  Tom's  nose,  scratch- 
ing his  face,  and  burying  her  fat  hands  in  his  woolly 
hair,  which  last  operation  seemed  to  afford  her 
special  content. 

"  Ain't  she  a  peart  young  un  ?  "  said  Tom,  holding 
her  from  him  to  take  a  full-length  view  ;  then,  get- 
ting up,  he  set  her  on  his  broad  shoulder,  and  began 
capering  and  dancing  with  her,  while  Mas'r  George 
snapped  at  her  with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
Mose  and  Pete,  now  returned  again,  roared  after  her 
like  bears,  till  Aunt  Chloe  declared  that  they 
"  fairly  took  her  head  off  "  with  their  noise.  As, 
according  to  her  own  statement,  this  surgical  opera- 
tion was  a  matter  of  daily  occurrence  in  the  cabin, 
the  declaration  no  whit  abated  the  merriment,  till 
every  one  had  roared  and  tumbled  and  danced 
themselves  down  to  a  state  of  composure. 

"  Well,  now,  I  hopes  you  're  done,"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  who  had  been  busy  in  pulling  out  a  rude  box 
of  a  trundle-bed ;  "  and  now,  you  Mose  and  you 
Pete,  get  into  thar ;  for  we  's  goin'  to  have  the 
meetin'." 

"  O  mother,  we  don't  wanter.  We  wants  to  sit  up 
to  meetin', — meetin's  is  so  curis.      We  likes  'em." 

k*  La,  Aunt  Chloe,  shove  it  under,  and  let  'em  sit 


38  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

up,"  said  Mas'r  George,  decisively,  giving  a  push  to 
the  rude  machine. 

Aunt  Chloe,  having  thus  saved  appearances, 
seemed  highly  delighted  to  push  the  thing  under,, 
saying,  as  she  did  so,  "Well,  mebbe  't  will  do  'em 
some  good." 

The  house  now  resolved  itself  into  a  committee 
of  the  whole,  to  consider  the  accommodations  and, 
arrangements  for  the  meeting. 

"  What  we  \s  to  do  for  cheers,  now,  I  declar  I 
don't  know,"  said  Aunt  Chloe.  As  the  meeting  had 
been  held  at  Uncle  Tom's,  weekly,  for  an  indefinite 
length  of  time,  without  any  more  "  cheers,"  there 
seemed  some  encouragement  to  hope  that  a  way 
would  be  discovered  at  present. 

"  Old  Uncle  Peter  sung  both  de  legs  out  of  dat 
oldest  cheer,  last  week,"  suggested  Mose. 

"You  go  'long  !  I  '11  boun'  you  pulled  'em  out ;. 
some  o'  your  shines,"  said  Aunt  Chloe. 

"  Well,  it  '11  stand,  if  it  only  keeps  jam  up  agin; 
de  wall !  "  said  Mose. 

"  Den  Uncle  Peter  mus'n't  sit  in  it,  cause  he 
al'ays  hitches  when  he  gets  a  singing.  He  hitched 
pretty  nigh  across  de  room,  t'  other  night,"  said 
Pete. 

"  Good  Lor  !  get  him  in  it,  then,"  said  Mose,. 
"  and  den  he  'd  begin,  '  Come  saints  and  sinners,, 
hear  me  tell,'  and  den  down  he  'd  go," — and  Mose 
imitated  precisely  the  nasal  tones  of  the  old  man, 
tumbling  on  the  floor,  to  illustrate  the  supposed 
catastrophe. 

"  Come  now,  be  decent,  can't  ye  ? "  said  Aunt: 
Chloe  ;  "  an't  yer  'shamed  ? " 

Mas'r  George,  however,  joined  the  offender  in  the 
laugh,   and   declared    decidedly  that  Mose  was   a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  39 

*' buster."  So  the  maternal  admonition  seemed 
rather  to  fail  of  effect. 

"  Well,  ole  man,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "  you  '11  have 
to  tote  in  them  ar  bar'ls." 

"  Mother's  bar'ls  is  like  dat  ar  widder's,  Mas'r 
George  was  reading  'bout,  in  de  good  book, — dey 
never  fails,"  said  Mose,  aside  to  Pete. 

"  I  'm  sure  one  on  'em  caved  in  last  week,"  said 
Pete,  "  and  let  'em  all  down  in  de  middle  of  de 
singin'  ;  dat  ar  was  failin',  warnt  it  ?  " 

During  this  aside  between  Mose  and  Pete,  two 
-empty  casks  had  been  rolled  into  the  cabin,  and 
being  secured  from  rolling,  by  stones  on  each  side, 
boards  were  laid  across  them,  which  arrangement, 
together  with  the  turning  down  of  certain  tubs  and 
pails,  and  the  disposing  of  the  rickety  chairs,  at  last 
completed  the  preparation. 

"  Mas'r  George  is  such  a  beautiful  reader,  now,  I 
know  he  '11  stay  to  read  for  us,"  said  Aunt  Chloe  ; 
*l  'pears  like  't  will  be  so  much  more  interestin'." 

George  very  readily  consented,  for  your  boy  is 
always  ready  for  anything  that  makes  him  of  impor- 
tance. 

The  room  was  soon  filled  with  a  motley  assem- 
blage, from  the  old  gray-headed  patriarch  of  eighty 
to  the  young  girl  and  lad  of  fifteen.  A  little  harmless 
gossip  ensued  on  various  themes,  such  as  where  old 
Aunt  Sally  got  her  new  red  head-kerchief,  and  how 
fl  Missis  was  a  going  to  give  Lizzy  that  spotted 
muslin  gown,  when  she  'd  got  her  new  berage  made 
up  ;  "  and  how  Mas'r  Shelby  was  thinking  of  buying 
a  new  sorrel  colt,  that  was  going  to  prove  an  addi- 
tion to  the  glories  of  the  place.  A  few  of  the  wor- 
shippers belonged  to  families  hard  by,  who  had  got 
permission  to   attend,  and  who  brought  in  various 


40  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

choice  scraps  of  information,  about  the  sayings  and 
doings  at  the  house  and  on  the  place,  which  circu- 
lated as  freely  as  the  same  sort  of  small  change  does 
in  higher  circles. 

After  a  while  the  singing  commenced,  to  the  evi- 
dent delight  of  all  present.  Not  even  all  the  dis- 
advantage of  nasal  intonation  could  prevent  the 
effect  of  the  naturally  fine  voices,  in  airs  at  once 
wild  and  spirited.  The  words  were  sometimes  the 
well-known  and  common  hymns  sung  in  the  churches 
about,  and  sometimes  of  a  wilder,  more  indefinite 
character,  picked  up  at  camp-meetings. 

The  chorus  of  one  of  them,  which  ran  as  follows, 
was  sung  with  great  energy  and  unction  : 

"  Die  on  the  field  of  battle, 
Die  on  the  field  of  battle, 
Glory  in  my  soul." 

Another  special  favorite  had  oft  repeated  the 
words — 

"  O,  I  'm  going  to  glory, — won't  you  come  along  with  me  ? 
Don't  you  see  the  angels  beck'ning,  and  a  calling  me  away  ? 
Don't  you  see  the  golden  city  and  the  everlasting  day  ?  " 

There  were  others,  which  made  incessant  mention 
of  "  Jordan's  banks,"  and  "  Canaan's  fields,"  and  the 
"  New  Jerusalem ;  "  for  the  negro  mind,  impassioned 
and  imaginative,  always  attaches  itself  to  hymns  and 
expressions  of  a  vivid  and  pictorial  nature ;  and,  as 
they  sung,  some  laughed,  and  some  cried,  and  some 
clapped  hands,  or  shook  hands  rejoicingly  with  each 
other,  as  if  they  had  fairly  gained  the  other  side  of 
the  river. 

Various  exhortations,  or  relations  of  experience, 
followed,  and  intermingled  with  the  singing.  One 
old  gray-headed  woman,  long  past  work,  but  much 
revered  as  a  sort  of  chronicle  of  the  past,  rose,  an& 
leaning  on  her  staff,  said — 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  41 

"  Well,  chil'en  !  Well,  I  'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  ye 
all  and  see  ye  all  once  more,  'cause  I  don't  know- 
when  I  '11  be  gone  to  glory ;  but  I  've  done  got  ready,, 
chil'en  ;  'pears  like  I  'd  got  jny  little  bundle  all  tied 
up,  and  my  bonnet  on,  jest  a  waitin'  for  the  stage  to 
come  along  and  take  me  home;  sometimes,  in  the 
night,  I  think  I  hear  the  wheels  a  rattlin',  and  I  'mi 
lookin'  out  all  the  time  ;  now,  you  jest  be  ready  too, 
for  I  tell  ye  all,  chil'en,"  she  said,  striking  her  staff' 
hard  on  the  floor,  "  dat  ar  glory  is  a  mighty  thing ! 
It's  a  mighty  thing,  chil'en, — you  don'  no  nothing: 
about  it, — it  's  wonderful."  And  the  old  creature 
sat  down,  with  streaming  tears,  as  wholly  overcome, 
while  the  whole  circle  struck  up — 

"  O  Canaan,  bright  Canaan, 
I'm  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan." 

Mas'r  George,  by  request,  read  the  last  chapters 
of  Revelation,  often  interrupted  by  such  exclamations 
as  "  The  sakes  now  !  "  "  Only  hear  that!  "  "  Jest 
think  on  't !  "     "  Is  all  that  a  comin'  sure  enough  ? " 

George,  who  was  a  bright  boy,  and  well  trained 
in  religious  things  by  his  mother,  finding  himself  an 
object  of  general  admiration,  threw  in  expositions  of 
his  own,  from  time  to  time,  with  a  commendable  seri- 
ousness and  gravity,  for  which  he  was  admired  by 
the  young  and  blessed  by  the  old  ;  and  it  was  agreed, 
on  all  hands,  that  "  a  minister  could  n't  lay  it  off  bet- 
ter than  he  did  ; "  that  "  't  was  reely  'mazin' !  " 

Uncle  Tom  was  a  sort  of  patriarch  in  religious 
matters,  in  the  neighborhood.  Having,  naturally, 
an  organization  in  which  the  morale  was  strongly- 
predominant,  together  with  a  greater  breadth  and 
cultivation  of  mind  than  obtained  among  his  com- 
panions, he  was  looked  up  to  with  great  respect,  as 
a  sort  of  minister   among   them  ;  and  the  simple,, 


42  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

hearty,  sincere  style  of  his  exhortations  might  have 
edified  even  better  educated  persons.  But  it  was  in 
prayer  that  he  especially  excelled.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  touching  simplicity,  the  child-like  earnest- 
ness, of  his  prayer,  enriched  with  the  language  of 
Scripture,  which  seemed  so  entirely  to  have  wrought 
itself  into  his  being,  as  to  have  become  a  part  of  him- 
self, and  to  drop  from  his  lips  unconsciously  ;  in  the 
language  of  a  pious  old  negro,  he  "  prayed  right  up." 
And  so  much  did  his  prayer  always  work  on  the  de- 
votional feelings  of  his  audiences,  that  there  seemed 
often  a  danger  that  it  would  be  lost  altogether  in 
the  abundance  of  the  responses  which  broke  out 
everywhere  around  him. 


While  this  scene  was  passing  in  the  cabin  of  the 
man,  one  quite  otherwise  passed  in  the  halls  of  the 
master. 

The  trader  and  Mr.  Shelby  were  seated  together 
in  the  dining-room  afore-named,  at  a  table  covered 
with  papers  and  writing  utensils. 

Mr.  Shelby  was  busy  in  counting  some  bundles 
of  bills,  which,  as  they  were  counted,  he  pushed  over 
to  the  trader,  who  counted  them  likewise. 

"  All  fair,"  said  the  trader  ;  "and  now  for  signing 
these  yer." 

Mr.  Shelby  hastily  drew  the  bills  of  sale  towards 
him,  and  signed  them,  like  a  man  that  hurries  over 
some  disagreeable  business,  and  then  pushed  them 
•over  with  the  money.  Haley  produced,  from  a  well- 
worn  valise,  a  parchment,  which,  after  looking  over 
it  a  moment,  he  handed  to  Mr.  Shelby,  who  took  it 
with  a  gesture  of  suppressed  eagerness. 

"Wal,  now,  the  thing  's  done/"  said  the  trader, 
getting  up. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLV.  43 

"It's  done /"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  in  a  musing  tone; 
and,  fetching  a  long  breath,  he  repeated,  "  Ifs  done!" 

"  Yer  don't  seem  to  feel  much  pleased  with  it, 
'pears  to  me,"  said  the  trader. 

"  Haley,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "  I  hope  you  'il  remem- 
ber that  you  promised, on  your  honor,  you  wouldn't 
sell  Tom,  without  knowing  what  sort  of  hands  he  's 
going  into." 

"  Why,  you  've  just  done  it,  sir,"  said  the  trader. 

"  Circumstances,  you  well  know,  obliged  me,"  said 
Shelby,  haughtily. 

"  Wal,  you  know,  they  may  'blige  me,  too,"  said 
the  trader.  "  Howsomever,  I  '11  do  the  very  best  I 
can  in  gettin'  Tom  a  good  berth ;  as  to  my  treatin' 
on  him  bad,  you  need  n't  be  a  grain  afeard.  If 
there  's  anything  that  I  thank  the  Lord  for,  it  is  that 
I  'm  never  noways  cruel." 

After  the  expositions  which  the  trader  had  pre- 
viously given  of  his  humane  principles,  Mr.  Shelby 
did  not  feel  particularly  reassured  by  these  declara- 
tions ;  but,  as  they  were  the  best  comfort  the  case 
admitted  of,  he  allowed  the  trader  to  depart  in 
silence,  and  betook  himself  to  a  solitary  cigar. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SHOWING     THE     FEELINGS     OF    LIVING     PROPERTY    ON 
CHANGING   OWNERS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  had  retired  to  their  apart- 
ment for  the  night.  He  was  lounging  in  a  large 
easy-chair,  looking  over  some  letters  that  had  come 
in  the  afternoon  mail,  and  she  was  standing  before 
her  mirror,  brushing  out  the  complicated  braids  and 
curls   in  which  Eliza  had   arranged   her  hair  ;  for, 

5 


44  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  ;    OR, 

noticing  her  pale  cheeks  and  haggard  eyes,  she  had 
excused  her  attendance  that  night,  and  ordered  her 
to  bed.  The  employment,  naturally  enough,  sug- 
gested her  conversation  with  the  girl  in  the  morning  • 
and,  turning  to  her  husband,  she  said,  carelessly, 

"  By  the  by,  Arthur,  who  was  that  low-bred  fellow 
that  you  lugged  in  to  our  dinner-table  to-day  ?  " 

"  Haley  is  his  name,"  said  Shelby,  turning  him- 
self rather  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  continuing  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  a  letter. 

"  Haley  1  Who  is  he,  and  what  may  be  his  busi- 
ness here,  pray  ? " 

"  Well,  he 's  a  man  that  I  transacted  some  business 
with,  last  time  I  was  at  Natchez,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  And  he  presumed  on  it  to  make  himself  quite  at 
home,  and  call  and  dine  here,  ay  ? " 

"  Why,  I  invited  him  ;  I  had  some  accounts  with 
him,"  said  Shelby! 

"  Is  he  a  negro-trader  ? "  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  noticing 
a  certain  embarrassment  in  her  husband's  manner. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  what  put  that  into  your  head  ? 
said  Shelby,  looking  up. 

"  Nothing, — only  Eliza  came  in  here,  after  din- 
ner,  in  a  great  worry,  crying  and  taking  on,  and  said 
you  were  talking  with  a  trader,  and  that  she  heard 
him  make  an  offer  for  her  boy — the  ridiculous  little 
goose ! " 

"She  did,  hey?"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  returning  to 
his  paper,  which  he  seemed  for  a  few  moments 
quite  intent  upon,  not  perceiving  that  he  was  hold- 
ing it  bottom  upwards. 

"  It  will  have  to  come  out,"  said  he,  mentally  •, 
"  as  well  now  as  ever." 

"  I  told  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  as  she  continued 
brushing  her  hair,  "  that  she  was  a  little  fool  for  her 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  45 

pains,  and  that  you  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
that  sort  of  persons.  Of  course,  I  knew  you  never 
meant  to  sell  any  of  our  people, — least  of  all,  to  such 
a  fellow." 

•"Well,  Emily,"  said  her  husband,  "  so  I  have 
always  felt  and  said*,  but  the  fact  is  that  my  busi- 
ness lies  so  that  I  cannot  get  on  without.  I  shall 
have  to  sell  some  of  my  hands." 

"  To  that  creature  ?  Impossible !  Mr.  Shelby, 
you  cannot  be  serious." 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  say  that  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 
"  I  've  agreed  to  sell  Tom." 

"  What !  our  Tom  ? — that  good,  faithful  creature  ! 
— been  your  faithful  servant  from  a  boy !  O,  Mr. 
Shelby  ! — and  you  have  promised  him  his  freedom, 
too,— you  and  I  have  spoken  to  him  a  hundred 
times  of  it.  Well,  I  can  believe  anything  now, — I 
can  believe  now  that  you  could  sell  little  Harry, 
poor  Eliza's  only  child  !  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  in  a 
tone  between  grief  and  indignation. 

"  Well,  since  you  must  know  all,  it  is  so.  I  have 
agreed  to  sell  Tom  and  Harry  both  ;  and  I  don't 
know  why  I  am  to  be  rated,  as  if  I  were  a  monster, 
for  doing  what  every  one  does  every  day." 

"  But  why,  of  all  others,  choose  these  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Shelby.  "  Why  sell  them,  of  all  on  the  place, 
if  you  must  sell  at  all  ? " 

"  Because  they  will  bring  the  highest  sum  of  any, 
— that  5s  why.  I  could  choose  another,  if  you  say 
so.  The  fellow  made  me  a  high  bid  on  Eliza,  r£ 
that  would  suit  you  any  better,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  The  wretch  !  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  vehemently. 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  listen  to  it,  a  moment, — out  of 
regard  to  your  feelings,  I  wouldn't ; — so  give  me 
some  credit." 


46  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  recollecting  her- 
self, "forgive  me.  I  have  been  hasty.  I  was  sur- 
prised, and  entirely  unprepared  for  this  ; — but 
surely  you  will  allow  me  to  intercede  for  these  poor 
creatures.  Tom  is  a  noble-hearted,  faithful  fellow," 
if  he  is  black.  I  do  believe,  Mr.  Shelby,  that  if  he 
were  put  to  it,  he  would  lay  down  his  life  for 
you." 

"  I  know  it, — I  dare  say } — but  what  's  the  use  of 
all  this  ? — I  can't  help  myself." 

"  Why  not  make  a  pecuniary  sacrifice  ?  I  'm  will- 
ing to  bear  my  part  of  the  inconvenience.  O,  Mr. 
Shelby,  I  have  tried — tried  most  faithfully,  as  a 
Christian  woman  should — to  do  my  duty  to  these 
poor,  simple,  dependent  creatures.  I  have  cared  for 
them,  instructed  them,  watched  over  them,  and 
known  all  their  little  cares  and  joys,  for  years  ;  and 
Jiow  can  I  ever  hold  up  my  head  again  among  them, 
if,  for  the  sake  of  a  little  paltry  gain,  we  sell  such  a 
faithful,  excellent,  confiding  creature  as  poor  Tom, 
and  tear  from  him  in  a  moment  all  we  have  taught 
liim  to  love  and  value  ?  I  have  taught  them  the 
■duties  of  the  family,  of  parent  and  child,  and  hus- 
band and  wife ;  and  how  can  I  bear  to  have  this 
open  acknowledgment  that  we  care  for  no  tie,  no 
-duty,  no  relation,  however  sacred,  compared  with 
money  ?  I  have  talked  with  Eliza  about  her  boy — 
her  duty  to  him  as  a  Christian  mother,  to  watch 
over  him,  pray  for  him,  and  bring  him  up  in  a 
Christian  way  ;  and  now  what  can  I  say,  if  you 
tear  him  away,  and  sell  him,  soul  and  body,  to  a 
profane,  unprincipled  man,  just  to  save  a  little 
money  ?  I  have  told  her  that  one  soul  is  worth 
more  than  all  the  money  in  the  world ;  and  how 
will  she  believe  me  when  she  sees  us  turn  round  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  47 

sell  her  child  ? — sell  him,  perhaps,  to  certain  ruin  of 
body  and  soul !  " 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  feel  so  about  it,  Emily, — indeed  I 
am,"  said  Mr.  Shelby ;  "  and  I  respect  your  feelings, 
too,  though  I  don't  pretend  to  share  them  to  their 
full  extent ;  but  I  tell  you  now,  solemnly,  it 's  of  no 
use — I  can't  help  myself.  I  did  n't  mean  to  tell  you 
this,  Emily  ;  but,  in  plain  words,  there  is  no  choice 
between  selling  these  two  and  selling  everything. 
Either  they  must  go,  or  all  must.  Haley  has  come 
into  possession  of  a  mortgage,  which,  if  I  don't 
clear  off  with  him  directly,  will  take  everything  be- 
fore it.  I  've  raked,  and  scraped,  and  borrowed, 
and  all  but  begged, — and  the  price  of  these  two  was 
needed  to  make  up  the  balance,  and  I  had  to  give 
them  up.  Haley  fancied  the  child  ;  he  agreed  to 
settle  the  matter  that  way,  and  no  other.  I  was  in 
his  power,  and  had  to  do  it.  If  you  feel  so  to  have 
them  sold,  would  it  be  any  better  to  have  all  sold  ?  ** 

Mrs.  Shelby  stood  like  one  stricken.  Finally, 
turning  to  her  toilet,  she  rested  her  face  in  her  hands,, 
and  gave  a  sort  of  groan. 

"  This  is  God's  curse  on  slavery  ! — a  bitter,  bitter, 
most  accursed  thing ! — a  curse  to  the  master  and  a 
curse  to  the  slave  !  I  was  a  fool  to  think  I  could 
make  anything  good  out  of  such  a  deadly  evil.  It 
is  a  sin  to  hold  a  slave  under  laws  like  ours, — I 
always  felt  it  was, — I  always  thought  so  when  I  was 
a  girl, — I  thought  so  still  more  after  I  joined  the 
church ;  but  I  thought  I  could  gild  it  over, — I 
thought,  by  kindness,  and  care,  and  instruction,  I 
could  make  the  condition  of  mine  better  than  free- 
dom— fool  that  I  was  !  " 

"  Why,  wife,  you  are  getting  to  be  an  abolitionist, 
quite." 


48  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  "    OR, 

"  Abolitionist !  if  they  knew  all  I  know  about 
slavery,  they  might  talk !  We  don't  need  them  to 
tell  us ;  you  know  I  never  thought  that  slavery  was 
right — never  felt  willing  to  own  slaves." 

"  Well,  therein  you  differ  from  many  wise  and 
pious  men,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "  You  remember 
Mr.  B.'s  sermon,  the  other  Sunday  ?  " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  such  sermons;  I  never 
wish  to  hear  Mr.  B.  in  our  church  again.  Ministers 
can't  help  the  evil,  perhaps, — can't  cure  it,  any  more 
than  we  can, — but  defend  it ! — it  always  went  against 
my  common  sense.  And  I  think  you  did  n't  think 
much  of  that  sermon,  either." 

"  Well,"  said  Shelby,  "  I  must  say  these  ministers 
sometimes  carry  matters  further  than  we  poor  sin- 
ners would  exactly  dare  to  do.  We  men  of  the 
world  must  wink  pretty  hard  at  various  things,  and 
get  used  to  a  deal  that  is  n't  the  exact  thing.  But 
we  don't  quite  fancy,  when  women  and  ministers 
come  out  broad  and  square,  and  go  beyond  us  in 
matters  of  either  modesty  or  morals,  that  's  a  fact. 
But  now,  my  dear,  I  trust  you  see  the  necessity 
of  the  thing,  and  you  see  that  I  have  done  the  very 
best  that  circumstances  would  allow." 

"  O  yes,  yes !  *  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  hurriedly  and 
abstractedly  fingering  her  gold  watch, — "  I  have  n't 
any  jewelry  of  any  amount,"  she  added,  thoughtfully ; 
"  but  would  not  this  watch  do  something  ? — it  was 
an  expensive  one,  when  it  was  bought.  If  I  could 
only  at  least  save  Eliza's  child,  I  would  sacrifice 
anything  I  have." 

"  I  'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Shelby, 
"  I  'm  sorry  this  takes  hold  of  you  so  ;  but  it  will  do 
no  good.  The  fact  is,  Emily,  the  thing  's  done  ;  the 
bills   of   sale   are    already   signed,  and  in    Haley's 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  49 

hands  ;  and  you  must  be  thankful  it  is  no  worse. 
That  man  has  had  it  in  his  power  to  ruin  us  all, — 
and  now  he  is  fairly  off.  If  you  knew  the  man  as  I 
do,  you  'd  think  that  we  had  had  a  narrow  escape." 

"  Is  he  so  hard,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  not  a  cruel  man,  exactly,  but  a  man  of 
leather, — a  man  alive  to  nothing  but  trade  and 
profit, — cool,  and  unhesitating,  and  unrelenting,  as 
death  and  the  grave.  He  'd  sell  his  own  mother 
at  a  good  percentage — not  wishing  the  old  woman 
any  harm,  either." 

"  And  this  wretch  owns  that  good,  faithful  Tom, 
and  Eliza's  child  !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  the  fact  is  that  this  goes  rather 
hard  with  me ;  it  's  a  thing  I  hate  to  think  of. 
Haley  wants  to  drive  matters,  and  take  possession 
to-morrow.  I  'm  going  to  get  out  my  horse  bright 
and  early,  and  be  off.  I  can't  see  Tom,  that  's  a 
fact ;  and  you  had  better  arrange  a  drive  some- 
where, and  carry  Eliza  off.  Let  the  thing  be  done 
when  she  is  out  of  sight." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby  ;  "  I  '11  be  in  no  sense 
accomplice  or  help  in  this  cruel  business.  I  '11  go 
and  see  poor  old  Tom,  God  help  him,  in  his  distress  ! 
They  shall  see,  at  any  rate,  that  their  mistress  can 
feel  for  and  with  them.  As  to  Eliza,  I  dare  not 
think  about  it.  The  Lord  forgive  us  !  What  have 
we  done,  that  this  cruel  necessity  should  come  on 
us  ?  " 

There  was  one  listener  to  this  conversation  whom 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  little  suspected. 

Communicating  with  their  apartment  was  a  large 
closet,  opening  by  a  door  into  the  outer  passage. 
When  Mrs.  Shelby  had  dismissed  Eliza  for  the  night, 
her  feverish  and  excited  mind  had  suggested   the 


50  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 

idea  of  this  closet ;  and  she  had  hidden  herself 
there,  and,  with  her  ear  pressed  close  against  the 
crack  of  the  door,  had  lost  not  a  word  of  the  con- 
versation. 

When  the  voices  died  into  silence,  she  rose  and 
crept  stealthily  away.  Pale,  shivering,  with  rigid 
features  and  compressed  lips,  she  looked  an  entirely 
altered  being  from  the  soft  and  timid  creature  she  had 
been  hitherto.  She  moved  cautiously  along  the  entry, 
paused  one  moment  at  her  mistress'  door,  and  raised 
her  hands  in  mute  appeal  to  Heaven,  and  then 
turned  and  glided  into  her  own  room.  It  was  a 
quiet,  neat  apartment,  on  the  same  floor  with  her 
mistress.  There  was  the  pleasant  sunny  window, 
where  she  had  often  sat  singing  at  her  sewing ; 
there  a  little  case  of  books,  and  various  little  fancy 
articles,  ranged  by  them,  the  gifts  of  Christmas 
holidays ;  there  was  her  simple  wardrobe  in  the 
closet  and  in  the  drawers  : — here  was,  in  short,  her 
home  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  one  it  had  been 
to  her.  But  there,  on  the  bed,  lay  her  slumbering 
boy,  his  long  curls  falling  negligently  around  his 
unconscious  face,  his  rosy  mouth  half  open,  his 
little  fat  hands  thrown  out  over  the  bedclothes,  and 
a  smile  spread  like  a  sunbeam  over  his  whole  face. 

"  Poor  boy  !  poor  fellow  !  "  said  Eliza  ;  "  they 
have  sold  you!  but  your  mother  will  save  you 
yet!." 

No  tear  dropped  over  that  pillow ;  in  such  straits 
as  these,  the  heart  has  no  tears  to  give, — it  drops 
only  blood,  bleeding  itself  away  in  silence.  She 
took  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  wrote,  hastily, 

"  O,  Missis!  dear  Missis  !  don't  think  me  un- 
grateful,— don't  think  hard  of  me,  any  way, — I 
heard  all  you  and  master  said  to-night.     I  am  going 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  5T 

to  try  to  save  my  boy — you  will  not  blame  me  ! 
God  bless  and  reward  you  for  all  your  kindness  !  " 

Hastily  folding  and  directing  this,  she  went  to  a 
drawer  and  made  up  a  little  package  of  clothing  for 
her  boy,  which  she  tied  with  a  handkerchief  firmly 
round  her  waist ;  and,  so  fond  is  a  mother's  remem- 
brance, that,  even  in  the  terrors  of  that  hour,  she 
did  not  forget  to  put  in  the  little  package  one  or 
two  of  his  favorite  toys,  reserving  a  gayly  painted 
parrot  to  amuse  him,  when  she  should  be  called  on 
to  awaken  him.  It  was  some  trouble  to  arouse  the 
little  sleeper  ;  but,  after  some  effort,  he  sat  up,  and 
was  playing  with  his  bird,  while  his  mother  was  put- 
ting on  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  mother  ?  "  said  he,  as  she 
drew  near  the  bed,  with  his  little  coat  and  cap. 

His  mother  drew  near,  and  looked  so  earnestly 
into  his  eyes,  that  he  at  once  divined  that  some- 
thing unusual  was  the  matter. 

"  Hush,  Harry,"  she  said ;  "  musn't  speak  loudr 
or  they  will  hear  us.  A  wicked  man  was  coming  to 
take  little  Harry  away  from  his  mother,  and  carry 
him  'way  off  in  the  dark ;  but  mother  won't  let  him 
—she  's  going  to  put  on  her  little  boy's  cap  and  coatr 
and  run  off  with  him,  so  the  ugly  man  can't  catch 
him." 

Saying  these  words,  she  had  tied  and  buttoned  on 
the  child's  simple  outfit,  and,  taking  him  in  her 
arms,  she  whispered  to  him  to  be  very  still ;  and, 
opening  a  door  in  her  room  which  led  into  the  outer 
verandah,  she  glided  noiselessly  out. 

It  was  a  sparkling,  frosty,  star-light  night,  and 
the  mother  wrapped  the  shawl  close  round  her 
child,  as,  perfectly  quiet  with  vague  terror,  he  clung 
round  her  neck. 


52  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Old  Bruno,  a  great  Newfoundland,  who  slept  at 
the  end  of  the  porch,  rose,  with  a  low  growl,  as  she 
came  near.  She  gently  spoke  his  name,  and  the 
animal,  an  old  pet  and  playmate  of  hers,  instantly, 
wagging  his  tail,  prepared  to  follow  her,  though 
apparently  revolving  much,  in  his  simple  dog's  head, 
what  such  an  indiscreet  midnight  promenade  might 
mean.  Some  dim  ideas  of  imprudence  or  impro- 
priety in  the  measure  seemed  to  embarrass  him  con- 
siderably, for  he  often  stopped,  as  Eliza  glided 
forward,  and  looked  wistfully,  first  at  her  and  then 
at  the  house,  and  then,  as  if  reassured  by  reflection, 
he  pattered  along  after  her  again.  A  few  minutes 
"brought  them  to  the  window  of  Uncle  Tom  's  cot- 
tage, and  Eliza,  stopping,  tapped  lightly  on  the 
window-pane. 

The  prayer-meeting  at  Uncle  Tom's  had,  in  the 
order  of  hymn-singing,  been  protracted  to  a  very 
late  hour ;  and,  as  Uncle  Tom  had  indulged  him- 
self in  a  few  lengthy  solos  afterwards,  the  conse- 
quence was,  that,  although  it  was  now  between 
twelve  and  one  o'clock,  he  and  his  worthy  helpmeet 
were  not  yet  asleep. 

,  "  Good  Lord  !  what  's  that  ?  "  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
starting  up  and  hastily  drawing  the  curtain.  "  My 
sakes  alive,  if  it  an't  'Lizy !  Get  on  your  clothes, 
old  man,  quick  ! — there  's  old  Bruno,  too,  a  pawin' 
round ;  what  on  airth  !  I  'm  gwine  to  open  the 
door." 

And,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  door  flew 
open,  and  the  light  of  the  tallow  candle,  which  Tom 
had  hastily  lighted,  fell  on  the  haggard  face  and 
dark,  wild  eyes  of  the  fugitive. 

"  Lord  bless  you  ! — I  'm  skeered  to  look  at  ye, 
'Lizy  !     Are  ye  tuck  sick,  or  what 's  come  over  ye  ?  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  53 

"  I  'm  running  away — Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Chloe 
— carrying  off  my  child — Master  sold  him  !  " 

"  Sold  him  ?  "  echoed  both,  lifting  up  their  hands 
in  dismay. 

"  Yes,  sold  him  !  "  said  Eliza,  firmly ;  "  I  crept 
into  the  closet  by  Mistress'  door  to-night,  and  I 
heard  Master  tell  Missis  that  he  had  sold  my  Harry, 
and  you,  Uncle  Tom,  both,  to  a  trader ;  and  that  he 
was  going  off  this  morning  on  his  horse,  and  that 
the  man  was  to  take  possession  to-day." 

Tom  had  stood,  during  this  speech,  with  his  hands 
raised,  and  his  eyes  dilated,  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 
Slowly  and  gradually,  as  its  meaning  came  over  him, 
he  collapsed,  rather  than  seated  himself,  on  his  old 
chair,  and  sunk  his  head  down  upon  his  knees. 

"  The  good  Lord  have  pity  on  us  !  "  said  Aunt 
Chloe.  "  O  !  it  don't  seem  as  if  it  was  true  !  What 
has  he  done,  that  Mas'r  should  sell  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  n't  done  anything, — it  is  n't  for  that. 
Master  don't  want  to  sell ;  and  Missis — she  's  always 
good.  I  heard  her  plead  and  beg  for  us  ;  but  he 
told  her  't  was  no  use  5  that  he  was  in  this  man's 
debt,  and  that  this  man  had  got  the  power  over  him  ; 
and  that  if  he  did  n't  pay  him  off  clear,  it  would  end 
in  his  having  to  sell  the  place  and  all  the  people, 
and  move  off.  Yes,  I  heard  him  say  there  was  no 
choice  between  selling  these  two  and  selling  all,  the 
man  was  driving  him  so  hard.  Master  said  he  was 
sorry ;  but  oh,  Missis — you  ought  to  have  heard  her 
talk  !  If  she  an't  a  Christian  and  an  angel,  there 
never  was  one.  I  'm  a  wicked  girl  to  leave  her  so  ; 
but,  then,  I  can't  help  it.  She  said,  herself,  one 
soul  was  worth  more  than  the  world  ;  and  this  boy 
has  a  soul,  and  if  I  let  him  be  carried  off,  who 
knows  what  '11  become   of  it  ?     It  must  be  rio;ht : 


54  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

but,  if  it  an't  right,  the  Lord  forgive  me,  for  I  can't 
help  doing  it !  " 

"  Well,  old  man  ! "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "  why  don't 
you  go,  too  ?  Will  you  wait  to  be  toted  down  river, 
where  they  kill  niggers  with  hard  work  and  starv- 
ing ?  I'da  heap  rather  die  than  go  there,  any  day  ! 
There 's  time  for  ye, — be  off  with  'Lizy, — you  've  got 
a  pass  to  come  and  go  any  time.  Come,  bustle  up, 
and  I  '11  get  your  things  together." 

Tom  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  looked  sorrow- 
fully but  quietly  around,  and  said, 

"  No,  no — I  an't  going.  Let  Eliza  go — it  's  her 
right !  I  would  n't  be  the  one  to  say  no — 't  an't  in 
natur  for  her  to  stay  ;  but  you  heard  what  she  said  ! 
If  I  must  be  sold,  or  all  the  people  on  the  place,  and 
everything  go  to  rack,  why,  let  me  be  sold.  I  s'pose 
I  can  b'ar  it  as  well  as  any  on  'em,"  he  added,  while 
something  like  a  sob  and  a  sigh  shook  his  broad, 
rough  chest  convulsively.  "  Mas'r  always  found  me 
on  the  spot — he  always  will.  I  never  have  broke 
trust,  nor  used  my  pass  no  ways  contrary  to  my 
word,  and  I  never  will.  It  's  better  for  me  alone  to 
go,  than  to  break  up  the  place  and  sell  all.  Mas'r 
an't  to  blame,  Chloe,  and  he  '11  take  care  of  you  and 
the  poor — " 

Here  he  turned  to  the  rough  trundle-bed  full  of 
little  woolly  heads,  and  broke  fairly  down.  He 
leaned  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  large  hands.  Sobs,  heavy,  hoarse  and 
loud,  shook  the  chair,  and  great  tears  fell  through 
his  fingers  on  the  floor:  just  such  tears,  sir,  as  you 
dropped  into  the  coffin  where  lay  your  first-born  son  ; 
such  tears,  woman,  as  you  shed  when  you  heard  the 
cries  of  your  dying  babe.  For,  sir,  he  was  a  man, 
— and   you    are   but   another  man.     And,   woman, 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  55 

though  dressed  in  silk  and  jewels,  you  are  but  a 
woman,  and,  in  life's  great  straits  and  mighty  griefs, 
ye  feel  but  one  sorrow  ! 

"  And  now,"  said  Eliza,  as  she  stood  in  the  door, 
"  I  saw  my  husband  only  this  afternoon,  and  I  little 
knew  then  what  was  to  come.  They  have  pushed 
him  to  the  very  last  standing-place,  and  he  told  me, 
to-day,  that  he  was  going  to  run  away.  Do  try,  if 
you  can,  to  get  word  to  him.  Tell  him  how  I  went, 
and  why  I  went ;  and  tell  him  I  'm  going  to  try  and 
find  Canada.  You  must  give  my  love  to  him,  and 
tell  him,  if  I  never  see  him  again," — she  turned 
away,  and  stood  with  her  back  to  them  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  added,  in  a  husky  voice,  "  tell  him 
to  be  as  good  as  he  can,  and  try  and  meet  me  in 
the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  Call  Bruno  in  there,"  she  added.  "  Shut  the 
door  on  him,  poor  beast  !  He  must  n't  go  with 
me !  " 

A  few  last  words  and  tears,  a  few  simple  adieus 
and  blessings,  and,  clasping  her  wondering  and 
affrighted  child  in  her  arms,  she  glided  noiselessly 
away. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

DISCOVERY. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelby,  after  their  protracted  dis- 
cussion of  the  night  before,  did  not  readily  sink  to 
repose,  and,  in  consequence,  slept  somewhat  later 
than  usual,  the  ensuing  morning. 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby, 
after  giving  her  bell  repeated  pulls,  to  no  purpose. 

Mr.  Shelby  was  standing  before  his  dressing- 
glass,  sharpening  his  razor  ;  and  just  then  the.  door 


56  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

opened,  and  a  colored  boy  entered,  with  his  shaving- 
water. 

"  Andy,"  said  his  mistress,  "  step  to  Eliza's  door, 
and  tell  her  I  have  rung  for  her  three  times.  Poor 
thing  !  "  she  added,  to  herself,  with  a  sigh. 

Andy  soon  returned,  with  eyes  very  wide  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Lor,  Missis  !  'Lizy's  drawers  is  all  open,  and 
her  things  all  lying  every  which  way ;  and  I  believe 
she  's  just  done  clared  out !  " 

The  truth  flashed  upon  Mr.  Shelby  and  his  wife 
at  the  same  moment.     He  exclaimed  : 

"  Then  she  suspected  it,  and  she  's  off !  " 

"  The  Lord  be  thanked  !  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby.  "  I 
trust  she  is." 

"  Wife,  you  talk  like  a  fool !  Really,  it  will  be 
something  pretty  awkward  for  me,  if  she  is.  Haley 
saw  that  I  hesitated  about  selling  this  child,  and 
he  '11  think  I  connived  at  it,  to  get  him  out  of  the 
way.  It  touches  my  honor  !  "  And  Mr.  Shelby 
left  the  room  hastily. 

There  was  great  running  and  ejaculating,  and 
opening  and  shutting  of  doors,  and  appearance  of 
faces  in  all  shades  of  color  in  different  places,  for 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  One  person  only,  who 
might  have  shed  some  light  on  the  matter,  was  en- 
tirely silent,  and  that  was  the  head  cook,  Aunt  Chloe. 
Silently,  and  with  a  heavy  cloud  settled  down  over 
her  once  joyous  face,  she  proceeded  making  out  her 
breakfast  biscuits,  as  if  she  heard  and  saw  nothing 
of  the  excitement  around  her. 

Very  soon,  about  a  dozen  young  imps  were  roost- 
ing, like  so  many  crows,  on  the  verandah  railings, 
each  one  determined  to  be  the  first  one  to  apprize 
the  strange  Mas'r  of  his  ill  luck. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  57 

"  He  '11  be  rael  mad,  I  '11  be  bound,"  said  Andy. 

"  Won't  he  swar  !  "  said  little  black  Jake. 

"  Yes,  for  he  does  swar,"  said  woolly-headed 
Mandy.  "  I  hearn  him  yesterday,  at  dinner.  I 
hearn  all  about  it  then,  'cause  I  got  into  the  closet 
where  Missis  keeps  the  great  jugs,  and  I  hearn 
every  word."  And  Mandy,  who  had  never  in  her 
life  thought  of  the  meaning  of  a  word  she  had  heard, 
more  than  a  black  cat,  now  took  airs  of  superior 
wisdom,  and  strutted  about,  forgetting  to  state  that, 
though  actually  coiled  up  among  the  jugs  at  the 
time  specified,  she  had  been  fast  asleep  all  the  time. 

When,  at  last,  Haley  appeared,  booted  and  spurred^ 
he  was  saluted  with  the  bad  tidings  on  every  hand. 
The  young  imps  on  the  verandah  were  not  disap- 
pointed in  their  hope  of  hearing  him  "  swar,"  which 
he  did  with  a  fluency  and  fervency  which  delighted 
them  all  amazingly,  as  they  ducked  and  dodged 
hither  and  thither,  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  his 
riding-whip ;  and,  all  whooping  off  together,  they 
tumbled,  in  a  pile  of  immeasurable  giggle,  on  the 
withered  turf  under  the  verandah,  where  they  kicked 
up  their  heels  and  shouted  to  their  full  satisfaction. 

"  If  I  had  the  little  devils  ! "  muttered  Haley,  be- 
tween his  teeth. 

"  But  you  ha'nt  got  'em,  though  !  "  said  Andy, 
with  a  triumphant  flourish,  and  making  a  string  of 
indescribable  mouths  at  the  unfortunate  trader's 
back,  when  he  was  fairly  beyond  hearing. 

"  I  say  now,  Shelby,  this  yer  's  a  most  extro'rnary 
business  !  "  said  Haley,  as  he  abruptly  entered  the 
parlor.    "  It  seems  that  gal 's  off,  with  her  young  un." 

"  Mr.  Haley,  Mrs.  Shelby  is  present,"  said  Mr. 
Shelby. 

"  I    beg   pardon,    ma'am,"    said    Haley,   bowing 


58  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

slightly,  with  a  still  lowering  brow  ;  "  but  still  I  say, 
as  I  said  before,  this  yer  's  a  sing'lar  report.  Is  it 
true,  sir  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "  if  you  wish  to  com- 
municate with  me,  you  must  observe  something  of 
the  decorum  of  a  gentleman.  Andy,  take  Mr. 
Haley's  hat  and  riding-whip.  Take  a  seat,  sir.  Yes, 
sir  ;  I  regret  to  say  that  the  young  woman,  excited 
by  overhearing,  or  having  reported  to  her,  something 
of  this  business,  has  taken  her  child  in  the  night, 
and  made  off." 

"  I  did  expect  fair  dealing  in  this  matter,  I  con- 
fess," said  Haley. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  turning  sharply 
round  upon  him,  "  what  am  I  to  understand  by  that 
remark  ?  If  any  man  calls  my  honor  in  question,  I 
have  but  one  answer  for  him." 

The  trader  cowered  at  this,  and  in  a  somewhat 
lower  tone  said  that  "  It  was  plaguy  hard  on  a  fellow, 
that  had  made  a  fair  bargain,  to  be  gulled  that  way." 

"  Mr.  Haley,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "  if  I  did  not  think 
you  had  some  cause  for  disappointment,  I  should 
not  have  borne  from  you  the  rude  and  uncere- 
monious style  of  your  entrance  into  my  parlor  this 
morning.  I  say  thus  much,  however,  since  appear- 
ances call  for  it,  that  I  shall  allow  of  no  insinuations 
cast  upon  me,  as  if  I  were  at  all  partner  to  any  un- 
fairness in  this  matter.  Moreover,  I  shall  feel  bound 
to  give  you  every  assistance,  in  the  use  of  horses, 
servants,  etc.,  in  the  recovery  of  your  property.  So, 
in  short,  Haley,"  said  he,  suddenly  dropping  from 
the  tone  of  dignified  coolness  to  his  ordinary  one 
of  easy  frankness,  "  the  best  way  for  you  is  to  keep 
good-natured  and  eat  some  breakfast,  and  we  will 
then  see  what  is  to  be  done." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  59 

Mrs.  Shelby  now  rose,  and  said  her  engagements 
would  prevent  her  being  at  the  breakfast-table  that 
morning  ;  and,  deputing  a  very  respectable  mulatto 
woman  to  attend  to  the  gentlemen's  coffee  at  the 
side-board,  she  left  the  room. 

"  Old  lady  don't  like  your  humble  servant,  over 
and  above,"  said  Haley,  with  an  uneasy  effort  to  be 
very  familiar. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  hear  my  wife  spoken  of 
with  such  freedom,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  dryly. 

"  Beg  pardon ;  of  course,  only  a  joke,  you  know," 
said  Haley,  forcing  a  laugh. 

"  Some  jokes  are  less  agreeable  than  others,"  re- 
joined Shelby. 

"  Devilish  free,  now  I  've  signed  those  papers, 
cuss  him  !  "  muttered  Haley  to  himself  ;  "  quite 
grand,  since  yesterday  !  " 

Never  did  fall  of  any  prime  minister  at  court  oc- 
casion wider  surges  of  sensation  than  the  report  of 
Tom's  fate  among  his  compeers  on  the  place.  It  was 
the  topic  in  every  mouth,  everywhere  ;  and  nothing 
was  done  in  the  house  or  in  the  field,  but  to  dis- 
cuss its  probable  results.  Eliza's  flight — an  unpre- 
cedented event  on  the  place — was  also  a  great  ac- 
cessory in  stimulating  the  general  excitement. 

Black  Sam,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  from  his 
being  about  three  shades  blacker  than  any  other  son 
of  ebony  on  the  place,  was  revolving  the  matter 
profoundly  in  all  its  phases  and  bearings,  with  a 
comprehensiveness  of  vision  and  a  strict  look-out  to 
his  own  personal  well-being,  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  any  white  patriot  in  Washington. 

"  It  's  an  ill  wind  dat  blows  nowhar, — dat  ar  a 
fact,"  said  Sam,  sententiously,  giving  an  additional 
hoist  to  his  pantaloons,  and  adroitly  substituting  a 
6 


60  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

long  nail  in  place  of  a  missing  suspender-button, 
with  which  effort  of  mechanical  genius  he  seemed 
highly  delighted. 

"  Yes,  it 's  an  ill  wind  blows  nowhar,"  he  repeated, 
"  Now,  dar,  Tom  's  down — wal,  Course  der  's  rObm  for 
some  nigger  to  be  up — and  why  not  dis  nigger  ? — 
dat  's  de  idee.  Tom,  a  ridin'  round  de  country — 
boots  blacked — pass  in  his  pocket — all  grand  as 
Cuffee — who  but  he  ?  Now,  why  should  n't  Sam  .?— - 
dat 's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  Halloo,  Sam — O  Sam  !  Mas'r  wants  you  to 
cotch  Bill  and  Jerry/'  said  Andy,  cutting  short  Sam's 
soliloquy. 

"  High  !  what  's  afoot  now,  young  un?" 

"  Why,  you  don't  know,  I  s'pose,  that  'Lizy  's  cut 
stick,  and  clared  out,  with  her  young  un  ?  " 

"  You  teach  your  granny  !  "  said  Sam,  with  infinite 
contempt ;  "  knowed  it  a  heap  sight  sooner  than  you 
did ;  this  nigger  an't  so  green,  now !  " 

"  Well,  anyhow,  Mas'r  wants  Bill  and  Jerry  geared 
right  up ;  and  you  and  I  's  to  go  with  Mas'r  Haley, 
to  look  arter  her." 

"  Good,  now  !  dat  's  de  time  o'  day  !  "  said  Sam. 
"  It 's  Sam  dat's  called  for  in  dese  yer  times.  He  's 
de  nigger.  See  if  I  don't  cotch  her,  now-  Mas'r  'It 
see  what  Sam  can  do  !  " 

"  Ah  !  but,  Sam,"  said  Andy,  "  you  'd  better  think 
twice  ;  for  Missis  don't  want  her  cotched,  and  she  '11 
be  in  yer  wool." 

"  High  !  "  said  Sam,  opening  his  eyes.  "  How 
you  know  dat  ?  " 

"  Heard  her  say  so,  my  own  self,  dis  blessed 
mornin',  when  I  bring  in  Mas'r's  shaving-water.  She 
sent  me  to  see  why  'Lizy  did  n't  come  to  dress  her ; 
and  when  I  telled  her  she  was  off,  she  jest  ris  up, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  6 1 

and  ses  she,  '  The  Lord  be  praised ; '  and  Mas'r, 
he  seemed  rael  mad,  and  ses  he,  'Wife,  you  talk, 
like  a  fool.'  But  Lor!  she'll  bring  him  to!  1 
knows  well  enough  how  that  '11  be, — it 's  allers  best 
to  stand  Missis'  side  the  fence,  now  I  tell  ver." 

Black  Sam,  upon  this,  scratched  his  woolly  pate, 
which,  if  it  did  not  contain  very  profound  wisdom, 
still  contained  a  great  deal  of  a  particular  species 
much  in  demand  among  politicians  of  all  com- 
plexions and  countries,  and  vulgarly  denominated 
"  knowing  which  side  the  bread  is  buttered ;"  so, 
stopping  with  grave  consideration,  he  again  gave 
a  hitch  to  his  pantaloons,  which  was  his  regularly 
organized  method  of  assisting  his  mental  perplex- 
ities. 

"  Der  an't  no  sayin' — never — 'bout  no  kind  o* 
thing  in  dis  yer  world,"  he  said,  at  last. 

Sam  spoke  like  a  philosopher,  emphasizing  this — 
as  if  he  had  had  a  large  experience  in  different 
sorts  of  worlds,  and  therefore  had  come  to  his  con- 
clusions advisedly. 

"  Now,  sartin  I'd  a  said  that  Missis  would  a 
scoured  the  'varsal  world  after  'Lizy,"  added  Sam, 
thoughtfully. 

"  So  she  would,"  said  Andy ;  "  but  Can't  ye  see 
through  a  ladder,  ye  black  nigger  ?  Missis  don't 
want  dis  yer  Mas'r  Haley  to  get  'Lizy's  boy  ;  dat  's 
de  go  !  " 

"  High  !  "  said  Sam,  with  an  indescribable  intona- 
tion, known  only  to  those  who  have  heard  it  among 
the  negroes. 

"  And  I  '11  tell  yer  more  'n  all,"  said  Andy;  "  I 
specs  you  'd  better  be  making  tracks  for  dem  hosses, 
— mighty  sudden,  too, — for  I  hearn  Missis  'quirhV 
arter  yer, — so  you  've  stood  foolin'  long  enough." 


62  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Sam,  upon  this,  began  to  bestir  himself  in  real 
earnest,  and  after  a  while  appeared,  bearing  down 
gloriously  towards  the  house,  with  Bill  and  Jerry  in 
a  full  canter,  and  adroitly  throwing  himself  off  be- 
fore they  had  any  idea  of  stopping,  he  brought  them 
up  alongside  of  the  horse-post  like  a  tornado. 
Haley's  horse,  which  was  a  skittish  young  colt, 
winced,  and  bounced,  and  pulled  hard  at  his  halter. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  Sam,  "  skeery,  ar  ye  ?  "  and  his 
black  visage  lighted  up  with  a  curious,  mischievous 
gleam.     "  I  '11  fix  ye  now  !  "  said  he. 

There  was  a  large  beech-tree  overshadowing  the 
place,  and  the  small,  sharp,  triangular  beech-nuts 
lay  scattered  thickly  on  the  ground.  With  one  of 
these  in  his  fingers,  Sam  approached  the  colt,  stfoked 
and  patted,  and  seemed  apparently  busy  in  sooth- 
ing his  agitation.  On  pretence  of  adjusting  the 
saddle,  he  adroitly  slipped  under  it  the  sharp  little 
nut,  in  such  a  manner  that  the  least  weight  brought 
upon  the  saddle  would  annoy  the  nervous  sensibil- 
ities of  the  animal,  without  leaving  any  perceptible 
graze  or  wound. 

"  Dar !  he  said,  rolling  his  eyes  with  an  approv- 
ing grin  ;  "  me  fix  'em  !  " 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Shelby  appeared  on  the 
balcony,  beckoning  to  him.  Sam  approached  with 
as  good  a  determination  to  pay  court  as  did  ever 
suitor  after  a  vacant  place  at  St.  James's  or  Wash- 
ington. 

"  Why  have  you  been  loitering  so,  Sam  ?  I  sent 
Andy  to  tell  you  to  hurry." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Missis  !  "  said  Sam,  "  horses 
won't  be  cotched  all  in  a  minit ;  they  'd  done  clared 
out  way  down  to  the  south  pasture,  and  the  Lord 
knows  whar ! " 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  6$ 

"  Sam,  how  often  must  I  tell  you  not  to  say  '  Lord 
bless  you,  and  the  Lord  knows,'  and  such  things  ? 
It 's  wicked." 

"  O,  Lord  bless  my  soul !  I  done  forgot,  Missis  ! 
I  won't  say  nothing  of  de  sort  no  more." 

u  Why,  Sam,  you  just  have  said  it  again." 

"  Did  I  ?  O,  Lord !  I  mean — I  did  n't  go  for  to 
say  it." 

"  You  must  be  careful,  Sam." 

"  Just  let  me  get  my  breath,  Missis,  and  I  '11  start 
fair.     I  '11  be  berry  careful." 

"  Well,  Sam,  you  are  to  go  with  Mr.  Haley,  to 
show  him  the  road,  and  help  him.  Be  careful  of 
the  horses,  Sam  ;  you  know  Jerry  was  a  little  lame 
last  week  ;  don't  ride  them  too  fast." 

Mrs.  Shelby  spoke  the  last  words  with  a  low  voice, 
and  strong  emphasis. 

"  Let  dis  child  alone  for  dat !  "  said  Sam,  rolling 
up  his  eyes  with  a  volume  of  meaning.  "  Lord 
knows  !  High  !  Did  n't  say  dat !  said  he,  sud- 
denly catching  his  breath,  with  a  ludicrous  flourish 
of  apprehension,  which  made  his  mistress  laugh, 
spite  of  herself.  "  Yes,  Missis,  I  '11  look  out  for  de 
hosses !  " 

"  Now,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  returning  to  his  stand 
under  the  beech-trees,  "  you  see  I  would  n't  be  't  all 
surprised  if  dat  ar  gen'leman's  crittur  should  gib  a 
fling,  by  and  by,  when  he  comes  to  be  a  gettin'  up. 
You  know,  Andy,  critturs  will  do  such  things  ;  "  and 
therewith  Sam  poked  Andy  in  the  side,  in  a  highly 
suggestive  manner. 

"  High  !  "  said  Andy,  with  an  air  of  instant  ap- 
preciation. 

"  Yes,  you  see,  Andy,  Missis  wants  to  make  time, 
— dat  ar  's  clar  to  der  most  or'nary  'bserver.     I  jis 


64  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

make  a  little  for  her.  Now,  you  see,  get  all  dese 
yer  hosses  loose,  caperin'  permiscus  round  dis  yer  lot 
and  down  to  de  wood  dar,  and  I  spec  Mas'r  won't 
be  off  in  a  hurry." 

Andy  grinned. 

"  Yer  see,"  said  Sam,  "yer  see,  Andy,  if  any  such 
thing  should  happen  as  that  Mas'r  Haley's  horse 
should  begin  to  act  contrary,  and  cut  up,  you  and  I 
jist  lets  go  of  our'n  to  help  him,  and  we  '11  help  him 
— oh  yes  !  "  And  Sam  and  Andy  laid  their  heads 
back  on  their  shoulders,  and  broke  into  a  low,  im- 
moderate laugh,  snapping  their  fingers  and  flourish- 
ing their  heels  with  exquisite  delight. 

At  this  instant,  Haley  appeared  on  the  verandah. 
Somewhat  mollified  by  certain  cups  of  very  good 
coffee,  he  came  out  smiling  and  talking,  in  tolerably 
restored  humor.  Sam  and  Andy,  clawing  for  certain 
fragmentary  palm-leaves,  which  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  considering  as  hats,  flew  to  the  horse-posts, 
to  be  ready  to  "  help  Mas'r." 

Sam's  palm-leaf  had  been  ingeniously  disentangled 
from  all  pretensions  to  braid,  as  respects  its  brim ; 
and  the  slivers  starting  apart,  and  standing  upright, 
gave  it  a  blazing  air  of  freedom  and  defiance,  quite 
equal  to  that  of  any  Fejee  chief ;  while  the  whole 
brim  of  Andy's  being  departed  bodily,  he  rapped 
the  crown  on  his  head  with  a  dexterous  thump,  and 
looked  about  well  pleased,  as  if  to  say,  "  Who  says 
I  have  n't  got  a  hat  ? " 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Haley,  "look  alive  now  ;  we 
must  lose  no  time." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  him,  Mas'r  !  "  said  Sam,  putting 
Haley's  rein  in  his  hand,  and  holding  his  stirrup, 
while  Andy  was  untying  the  other  two  horses. 

The  instant  Haley  touched  the  saddle,  the  mettle- 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  65 

some  creature  bounded  from  the  earth  with  a  sudden 
spring,  that  threw  his  master  sprawling,  some  feet 
off,  on  the  soft,  dry  turf.  Sam,  with  frantic  ejacula- 
tions, made  a  dive  at  the  reins,  but  only;  succeeded 
in  brushing  the  blazing  palm-leaf  afore-named  into 
the  horse's  eyes,  which  by  no  means  tended  to  allay 
the  confusion  of  his  nerves.  So,  with  great  vehe- 
mence, he  overturned  Sam,  and,  giving  two  or  three 
contemptuous  snorts,  flourished  his  heels  vigorously 
in  the  air,  and  was  soon  prancing  away  towards  the 
lower  end  of  the  lawn,  followed  by  Bill  and  Jerry, 
whom  Andy  had  not  failed  to  let  loose,  according  to 
contract,  speeding  them  off  with  various  direful 
ejaculations.  And  now  ensued  a  miscellaneous 
scene  of  confusion.  Sam  and  Andy  ran  and 
shouted, — dogs  barked  here  and  there, — and  Mike, 
Mose,  Mandy,  Fanny,  and  all  the  smaller  specimens 
on  the  place,  both  male  and  female,  raced,  clapped 
hands,  whooped,  and  shouted,  with  outrageous  offi- 
ciousness  and  untiring  zeal. 

Haley's  horse,  which  was  a  white  one,  and  very 
fleet  and  spirited,  appeared  to  enter  into  the  spirit 
of  the  scene  with  great  gusto ;  and  having  for  his 
coursing  ground  a  lawn  of  nearly  half  a  mile  in 
extent,  gently  sloping  down  on  every  side  into  indef- 
inite woodland,  he  appeared  to  take  infinite  delight 
in  seeing  how  near  he  could  allow  his  pursuers  to 
approach  him,  and  then,  when  within  a  hand's 
breadth,  whisk  off  with  a  start  and  a  snort,  like  a 
mischievous  beast  as  he  was,  and  career  far  down 
into  some  alley  of  the  wood-lot.  Nothing  was  fur- 
ther from  Sam's  mind  than  to  have  any  one  of  the 
troop  taken  until  such  season  as  should  seem  to  him 
most  befitting, — and  the  exertions  that  he  made 
were    certainly   most   heroic.      Like   the    sword  of 


66  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

Coeur  De  Lion,  which  always  blazed  in  the  front 
and  thickest  of  the  battle,  Sam's  palm-leaf  was  to 
be  seen  everywhere  when  there  was  the  least  danger 
that  a  horse  could  be  caught ; — there  he  would  bear 
down  full  tilt,  shouting,  "  Now  for  it !  cotch  him  ! 
cotch  him  !  "  in  a  way  that  would  set  everything  to 
indiscriminate  rout  in  a  moment. 

Haley  ran  up  and  down,  and  cursed  and  swore 
and  stamped  miscellaneously.  Mr.  Shelby  in  vain 
tried  to  shout  directions  from  the  balcony,  and  Mrs. 
Shelby  from  her  chamber  window  alternately  laughed 
and  wondered, — not  without  some  inkling  of  what 
lay  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  confusion. 

At  last,  about  twelve  o'clock,  Sam  appeared 
triumphant,  mounted  on  Jerry,  with  Haley's  horse 
by  his  side,  reeking  with  sweat,  but  with  flashing 
eyes  and  dilated  nostrils,  showing  that  the  spirit  of 
freedom  had  not  yet  entirely  subsided. 

"  He  's  cotched  !  "  he  exclaimed,  triumphantly. 
"  If  't  had  n't  been  for  me,  they  might  a  bust  their- 
selves,  all  on  'em  ;  but  I  cotched  him  !  " 

"  You  !  "  growled  Haley,  in  no  amiable  mood. 
"  If  it  had  n't  been  for  you,  this  never  would  have 
happened." 

"  Lord  bless  us,  Mas'r,"  said  Sam,  in  a  tone  of 
the  deepest  concern,  "  and  me  that  has  been  racin' 
and  chasin'  till  the  sweat  jest  pours  off  me  !  " 

"  Well,  well!"  said  Haley,  "you  've  lost  me  near 
three  hours,  with  your  cursed  nonsense.  Now  let 's 
be  off,  and  have  no  more  fooling." 

"  Why,  Mas'r,"  said  Sam,  in  a  deprecating  tone, 
"  I  believe  you  mean  to  kill  us  all  clar,  horses  and 
all.  Here  we  are  all  just  ready  to  drop  down,  and 
the  critters  all  in  a  reek  of  sweat.  Why,  Mas'r 
won't  think  of    startin'  on    now   till    arter   dinner. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  67 

Mas'r's  hoss  wants  rubben  down  ;  see  how  he 
splashed  hisself  ;  and  Jerry  limps  too  ;  don't  think 
Missis  would  be  willin'  to  have  us  start  dis  yer  way, 
no  how.  Lord  bless  you,  Mas'r,  we  can  ketch  up, 
if  we  do  stop.    'Lizy  never  was  no  great  of  a  walker." 

Mrs.  Shelby,  who,  greatly  to  her  amusement,  had 
overheard  this  conversation  from  the  verandah,  now 
resolved  to  do  her  part.  She  came  forward,  and, 
courteously  expressing  her  concern  for  Haley's  ac- 
cident, pressed  him  to  stay  to  dinner,  saying  that 
the  cook  should  bring  it  on  the  table  immediately. 

Thus,  all  things  considered,  Haley,  with  rather  an 
equivocal  grace,  proceeded  to  the  parlor,  while  Sam, 
rolling  his  eyes  after  him  with  unutterable  meaning, 
proceeded  gravely  with  the  horses  to  the  stable- 
yard. 

"  Did  yer  see  him,  Andy  ?  did  yer  see  him  ?  "  said 
Sam,  when  he  had  got  fairly  beyond  the  shelter  of 
the  barn,  and  fastened  the  horse  to  a  post.  "  O 
Lor,  if  it  warn't  as  good  as  a  meetin',  now,  to  see 
him  adancin'  and  kickin'  andswarin'  at  us.  Didn't 
I  hear  him  ?  Swar  away,  ole  fellow  (says  I  to  my- 
self) ;  will  yer  have  yer  hoss  now,  or  wait  till  you 
cotch  him  ?  (says  I).  Lor,  Andy,  I  think  I  can  see 
him  now."  And  Sam  and  Andy  leaned  up  against 
the  barn,  and  laughed  to  their  hearts'  content. 

"  Yer  oughter  seen  how  mad  he  looked,  when  I 
brought  the  hoss  up.  Lord,  he  'd  a  killed  me,  if  he 
durs'  to ;  and  there  I  was  a  standin'  as  innercent 
and  as  humble." 

"  Lor,  I  seed  you,"  said  Andy  ;  "  an't  you  an  old 
hoss,  Sam  ? " 

"  Rather  specks  I  am,"  said  Sam;  "did  yer  see 
Missis  up  stars  at  the  winder  ?  I  seed  her 
laughin'." 


68  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  I  'm  sure,  I  was  racin'  so,  I  did  n't  see  nothing," 
said  Andy. 

"  Well,  yer  see,"  said  Sam,  proceeding  gravely  to 
wash  down  Haley's  pony,  "I  'se  'quired^ what  yer 
may  call  a  habit  o'  bobservation,  Andy.  It 's  a  very 
'portant  habit,  Andy ;  and  I  'commend  yer  to  "be 
cultivatin'  it,  now  yer  young.  Hist  up  that  hind 
foot,  Andy.  Yer  see,  Andy,  it 's  bobservation  makes 
all  de  difference  in  niggers.  Did  n't  I  see  which  way 
the  wind  blew  dis  yer  mornin'  ?  Did  n't  I  see  what 
Missis  wanted,  though  she  never  let  on  ?  Dat  ar  's 
bobservation,  Andy.  I  'spects  it 's  what  you  may 
call  a  faculty.  Faculties  is  different  in  different 
peoples,  but  cultivation  of  'em  goes  a  great  way." 

"  I  guess  if  I  had  n't  helped  your  bobservation  dis 
mornin'  yer  would  n't  have  seen  your  way  so  smart," 
said  Andy. 

"  Andy,"  said  Sam,  "  you 's  a  promisin'  child,  der 
an't  no  manner  o'  doubt.  I  thinks  lots  of  yer, 
Andy ;  and  I  don't  feel  no  ways  ashamed  to  take 
idees  from  you.  We  oughtenter  overlook  nobody, 
Andy,  cause  the  smartest  on  us  gets  tripped  up 
sometimes.  And  so,  Andy,  let 's  go  up  to  the  house 
now.  I  '11  be  boUn'  Missis  '11  give  us  an  uncommon 
good  bite,  dis  yer  time." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    MOTHER'S    STRUGGLE. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  human  creature 
more  wholly  desolate  and  forlorn  than  Eliza,  when 
she  turned  her  footsteps  from  Uncle  Tom's  cabin. 

Her  husband's  suffering  and  dangers,  and  the 
danger  of  her  child,  all  blended  in  her  mind,  with  a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  69 

confused  and  stunning  sense  of  the  risk  she  was 
running,  in  leaving  the  only  home  she  had  ever 
known,  and  cutting  loose  from  the  protection  of  a 
friend  whom  she  loved  and  revered.  Then  there 
was  the  parting  from  every  familiar  object, — the 
place  where  she  had  grown  up,  the  trees  under 
which  she  had  played,  the  groves  where  she  had 
walked  many  an  evening  in  happier  days,  by  the 
side  of  her  young  husband, — everything,  as  it  lay  in 
the  clear,  frosty  starlight,  seemed  to  speak  reproach- 
fully to  her,  and  ask  her  whither  could  she  go  from 
a  home  like  that  ? 

But  stronger  than  all  was  maternal  love,  wrought 
into  a  paroxysm  of  frenzy  by  the  near  approach  of 
a  fearful  danger.  Her  boy  was  old  enough  to  have 
walked  by  her  side,  and,  in  an  indifferent  case,  she 
would  only  have  led  him  by  the  hand  ;  but  now  the 
bare  thought  of  putting  him  out  of  her  arms  made 
her  shudder,  and  she  strained  him  to  her  bosom 
with  a  convulsive  grasp,  as  she  went  rapidly  forward. 

The  frosty  ground  creaked  beneath  her  feet,  and 
she  trembled  at  the  sound ;  every  quaking  leaf  and 
fluttering  shadow  sent  the  blood  backward  to  her 
heart,  and  quickened  her  footsteps.  She  wondered 
within  herself  at  the  strength  that  seemed  to  be 
come  upon  her  i  for  she  felt  the  weight  of  her  boy 
as  if  it  had  been  a  feather,  and  every  flutter  of  fear 
seemed  to  increase  the  supernatural  power  that 
bore  her  on,  while  from  her  pale  lips  burst  forth,  in 
frequent  ejaculations,  the  prayer  to  a  Friend  above 
— "  Lord,  help  !  Lord,  save  me  !  " 

If  it  were  your  Harry,  mother,  or  your  Willie, 
that  were  going  to  be  torn  from  you  by  a  brutal 
trader,  to-morrow  morning, — if  you  had  seen  the 
man,  and  heard  that  the  papers   were    signed    and 


70  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

delivered,  and  you  had  only  from  twelve  o'clock  till 
morning  to  make  good  your  escape, — how  fast  could 
you  walk?  How  many  miles  could  you  make  in 
those  few  brief  hours,  with  the  darling  at  your 
bosom, — the  little  sleepy  head  on  your  shoulder, — 
the  small,  soft  arms  trustingly  holding  on  to  your 
neck? 

For  the  child  slept.  At  first,  the  novelty  and 
alarm  kept  him  waking;  but  his  mother  so  hurriedly 
repressed  every  breath  Or  sound,  and  so  assured 
him  that  if  he  were  only  still  she  would  certainly 
save  him,  that  he  clung  quietly  round  her  neck, 
only  asking,  as  he  found  himself  sinking  to  sleep, 

"  Mother,  I  don't  need  to  keep  awake,  do  I  ? " 

"No,  my  darling  ;  sleep,  if  you  want  to." 

"  But,  mother,  if  I  do  get  asleep,  you  won't  let 
him  get  me  ? " 

"  No  !  so  may  God  help  me  !  "  said  his  mother, 
with  a  paler  cheek,  and  a  brighter  light  in  her 
large  dark  eyes. 

"  You  're  sure,  an't  you,  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  sure/"  said  the  mother,  in  a  voice  that 
startled  herself ;  for  it  seemed  to  her  to  come  from 
a  spirit  within,  that  wras  no  part  of  her  •  and  the 
boy  dropped  his  little  weary  head  on  her  shoulder, 
and  was  soon  asleep.  How  the  touch  of  those 
warm  arms,  the  gentle  breathings  that  came  in  her 
neck,  seemed  to  add  fire  and  spirit  to  her  move- 
ments !  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  strength  poured 
into  her  in  electric  streams,  from  every  gentle  touch 
and  movement  of  the  sleeping,  confiding  child. 
Sublime  is  the  dominion  of  the  mind  over  the  body, 
that,  for  a  time,  can  make  flesh  and  nerve  im- 
pregnable, and  string  the  sinews  like  steel,  so  that 
the  weak  become  so  mighty. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  71 

The  boundaries  of  the  farm,  the  grove,  the  wood- 
lot,  passed  by  her  dizzily,  as  she  walked  on  ;  and 
still  she  went,  leaving  one  familiar  object  after  an- 
other, slacking  not,  pausing  not,  till  reddening  day- 
light found  her  many  a  long  mile  from  all  traces  of 
any  familiar  objects  upon  the  open  highway. 

She  had  often  been,  with  her  mistress,  to  visit 

some  connections,  in  the  little  village  of  T ,  not 

far  from  the  Ohio  river,  and  knew  the  road  well. 
To  go  thither,  to  escape  across  the  Ohio  river,  were 
the  first  hurried  outlines  of  her  plan  of  escape  ;  be- 
yond that,  she  could  only  hope  in  God. 

When  horses  and  vehicles  began  to  move  along 
the  highway,  with  that  alert  perception  peculiar  to  a 
state  of  excitement,  and  which  seems  to  be  a  sort  of 
inspiration,  she  became  aware  that  her  headlong 
pace  and  distracted  air  might  bring  on  her  remark 
and  suspicion.  She  therefore  put  the  boy  on  the 
ground,  and,  adjusting  her  dress  and  bonnet,  she 
walked  on  at  as  rapid  a  pace  as  she  thought  consist- 
ent with  the  preservation  of  appearances.  In  her 
little  bundle  she  had  provided  a  store  of  cakes  and 
apples,  which  she  used  as  expedients  for  quicken- 
ing the  speed  of  the  child,  rolling  the  apple  some 
yards  before  them,  when  the  boy  would  run  with  all 
liis  might  after  it;  and  this  ruse,  often  repeated, 
carried  them  over  many  a  half-mile. 

After  a  while,  they  came  to  a  thick  patch  of  wood- 
land, through  which  murmured  a  clear  brook.  As 
the  child  complained  of  hunger  and  thirst,  she 
climbed  over  the  fence  with  him  j  and,  sitting  down 
"behind  a  large  rock  which  concealed  them  from  the 
Toad,  she  gave  him  a  breakfast  out  of  her  little  pack- 
age. The  boy  wondered  and  grieved  that  she  could 
not  eat ;  and  when,  putting  his  arms  round  her  neck, 


72  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

he  tried  to  wedge  some  of  his  cake  into  her  mouth, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  rising  in  her  throat  would 
choke  her. 

"  No,  no,  Harry  darling  !  mother  can't  eat  till  you 
are  safe  !  We,  must  go  on — on — till  we  come  to  the 
river  !  "  And  she  hurried  again  into  the  road,  and 
again  constrained  herself  to  walk  regularly  and  com- 
posedly forward. 

She  was  many  miles  past  any  neighborhood  where 
she  was  personally  known.  If  she  should  chance  to 
meet  any  who  knew  her,  she  reflected  that  the  well- 
known  kindness  of  the  family  would  be  of  itself  a 
blind  to  suspicion,  as  making  it  an  unlikely  suppo- 
sition that  she  could  be.  a  fugitive.  As  she  was  also 
so  white  as  not  to  be  known  as  of  colored  lineage, 
without  a  critical  survey,  and  her  child  was  white  also, 
it  was  much  easier  for  her  to  pass  on  unsuspected. 

On  this  presumption,  she  stopped  at  noon  at  a 
neat  farmhouse,  to  rest  herself,  and  buy  some  din- 
ner for  her  child  and  self;  for,  as  the  danger  de- 
creased with  the  distance,  the  supernatural  tension 
of  the  nervous  system  lessened,  and  she  found  her- 
self both  weary  and  hungry. 

The  good  woman,  kindly  and  gossiping,  seemed 
rather  pleased  than  otherwise  with  having  some- 
body come  in  to  talk  with ;  and  accepted,  without 
examination,  Eliza's  statement,  that  she  "was going 
on  a  little  piece,  to  spend  a  week  with  her  friends," 
— all  which  she  hoped  in  her  heart  might  prove 
strictly  true. 

An  hour  before  sunset,  she  entered  the  village  of 

T ,  by  the  Ohio  river,  weary  and  foot-sore,  but 

still  strong  in  heart.  Her  first  glance  was  at  the 
river,  which  lay,  like  Jordan,  between  her  and  the 
Canaan  of  liberty  on  the  other  side. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  73 

It  was  now  early  spring,  and  the  river  was  swollen 
and  turbulent ;  great  cakes  of  floating  ice  were 
swinging  heavily  to  and  fro  in  the  turbid  waters. 
Owing  to  the  peculiar  form  of  the  shore  on  the 
Kentucky  side,  the  land  bending  far  out  into  the 
water,  the  ice  had  been  lodged  and  detained  in  great 
quantities,  and  the  narrow  channel  which  swept 
round  the  bend  was  full  of  ice,  piled  one  cake  over 
another,  thus  forming  a  temporary  barrier  to  the 
descending  ice,  which  lodged,  and  formed  a  great, 
undulating  raft,  filling  up  the  whole  river,  and  ex- 
tending almost  to  the  Kentucky  shore. 

Eliza  stood,  for  a  moment,  contemplating  this 
unfavorable  aspect  of  things,  which  she  saw  at  once 
must  prevent  the  usual  ferry-boat  from  running,  and 
then  turned  into  a  small  public  house  on  the  bank, 
to  make  a  few  inquiries. 

The  hostess,  who  was  busy  in  various  fizzing  and 
stewing  operations  over  the  fire,  preparatory  to  the 
evening  meal,  stopped,  with  a  fork  in  her  hand,  as 
Eliza's  sweet  and  plaintive  voice  arrested  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said. 

"Is  n't  there  any  ferry  or  boat,  that  takes  people 
over  to  B ,  now  ?     she  said. 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  said  the  woman  ;  "  the  boats  has 
stopped  running." 

Eliza's  look  of  dismay  and  disappointment  struck 
the  woman,  and  she  said,  inquiringly, 

"  May  be  you  're  wanting  to  get  over  ? — anybody- 
sick  ?     Ye  seem  mighty  anxious  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  a  child  that 's  very  dangerous,"  said 
Eliza.  "  I  never  heard  of  it  till  last  night,  and  I  've 
walked  quite  a  piece  to-day,  in  hopes  to  get  to  the 
ferry." 

"  Well,  now,  that 's  onlucky,"  said   the  woman, 


74  UNCLE   TOM'S   cabin  :   OR, 

whose  motherly  sympathies  were  much  aroused ; 
"  I  'm  re'lly  consarned  for  ye.  Solomon  !  "  she 
called,  from  the  window,  towards  a  small  back 
building.  A  man,  in  leather  apron  and  very  dirty 
hands,  appeared  at  the  door. 

u  I  say,  Sol,"  said  the  woman,  "  is  that  ar  man 
going  to  tote  them  bar'ls  over  to-night." 

"  He  said  he  should  try,  if  't  was  any  way  pru- 
dent," said  the  man. 

"  There  's  a  man  a  piece  down  here,  that 's  going 
over  with  some  truck  this  evening,  if  he  durs'  to ; 
he  '11  be  in  here  to  supper  to-night,  so  you  'd  better 
set  down  and  wait.  That's  a  sweet  little  fellow," 
added  the  woman,  offering  him  a  cake. 

But  the  child,  wholly  exhausted,  cried  with  weari- 
ness. 

"  Poor  fellow !  he  is  n't  used  to  walking,  and  I  've 
hurried  him  on  so,"  said  Eliza. 

61  Well,  take  him  into  this  room,"  said  the  woman, 
opening  into  a  small  bedroom,  where  stood  a  com- 
fortable bed.  Eliza  laid  the  weary  boy  upon  it,  and 
held  his  hands  in  hers  till  he  was  fast  asleep.  For 
her  there  was  no  rest.  As  a  fire  in  her  bones,  the 
thought  of  the  pursuer  urged  her  on ;  and  she  gazed 
with  longing  eyes  on  the  sullen,  surging  waters  that 
lay  between  her  and  liberty. 

Here  we  must  take  our  leave  of  her  for  the 
present,  to  follow  the  course  of  her  pursuers. 


Though  Mrs.  Shelby  had  promised  that  the  din- 
ner should  be  hurried  on  table,  yet  it  was  soon 
seen,  as  the  thing  has  often  been  seen  before,  that 
it  required  more  than  one  to  make  a  bargain.     So, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  75 

although  the  order  was  fairly  given  out  in  Haley's 
hearing,  and  carried  to  Aunt  Chloe  by  at  least  half 
a  dozen  juvenile  messengers,  that  dignitary  only 
gave  certain  very  gruff  snorts,  and  tosses  of  her 
head,  and  went  on  with  every  operation  in  an  un- 
usually leisurely  and  circumstantial  manner. 

For  some  singular  reason,  an  impression  seemed 
to  reign  among  the  servants  generally  that  Missis 
would  not  be  particularly  disobliged  by  delay ;  and 
it  was  wonderful  what  a  number  of  counter  acci- 
dents occurred  constantly,  to  retard  the  course  of 
things.  One  luckless  wight  contrived  to  upset  the 
gravy ;  and  then  gravy  had  to  be  got  up  de  novo, 
with  due  care  and  formality,  Aunt  Chloe  watching 
and  stirring  with  dogged  precision,  answering  shortly, 
to  all  suggestions  of  haste,  that  she  "  warn't  a  going 
to  have  raw  gravy  on  the  table,  to  help  nobody's 
catchings."  One  tumbled  down  with  the  water,  and 
had  to  go  to  the  spring  for  more  ;  and  another  pre- 
cipitated the  butter  into  the  path  of  events  ;  and 
there  was  from  time  to  time  giggling  news  brought 
into  the  kitchen  that  "  Mas'r  Haley  was  mighty 
oneasy,  and  that  he  could  n't  sit  in  his  cheer  no 
ways,  but  was  a  walkin'  and  stalkin'  to  the  winders 
and  through  the  porch." 

"  Sarves  him  right ! "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  indig- 
nantly. "  He  '11  get  wus  nor  oneasy,  one  of  these 
days,  if  he  don't  mend  his  ways.  His  master  '11  be 
sending  for  him,  and  then  see  how  he  '11  look !  " 

"  He  '11  go  to  torment,  and  no  mistake,"  said  little 
Jake. 

"  He  desarves  it !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  grimly ; 
"  he  's  broke  a  many,  many,  many  hearts, — I  tell  ye 
all  !  '■  she  said,  stopping,  with  a  fork  uplifted  in  her 
hands  ;  "  it 's  like  what  Mas'r  George  reads  in'Rav- 

7 


76  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

elations, — souls  a  callin'  under  the  altar !  and  a 
callin'  on  the  Lord  for  vengeance  on  sich  ! — and  by 
and  by  the  Lord  he  '11  hear  'em — so  he  will !  " 

Aunt  Chloe,  who  was  much  revered  in  the  kitchen, 
was  listened  to  with  open  mouth  ;  and,  the  dinner 
being  now  fairly  sent  in,  the  whole  kitchen  was  at 
leisure  to  gossip  with  her,  and  to  listen  to  her  re- 
marks. 

"  Sich  '11  be  burnt  up  forever,  and  no  mistake ; 
won't  ther  ?  "  said  Andy. 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  see  it,  I  '11  be  boun',"  said  little 
Jake. 

"  Chil'en  ! "  said  a  voice,  that  made  them  all 
start.  It  was  Uncle  Tom,  who  had  come  in,  and 
stood  listening  to  the  conversation  at  the  door. 

"  Chil'en  !  "  he  said,  "  I  'm  afeared  you  don't  know 
what  ye  're  sayin'.  Forever  is  a  dregful  word,  chil'en ; 
it  's  awful  to  think  on  't.  You  oughtenter  wish  that 
ar  to  any  human  crittur." 

"  We  would  n't  to  anybody  but  the  soul-drivers," 
said  Andy ;  "  nobody  can  help  wishing  it  to  them, 
they  's  so  awful  wicked." 

"  Don't  natur  herself  kinder  cry  out  on  'em  ? " 
said  Aunt  Chloe.  "  Don't  dey  tear  der  suckin'  baby 
right  off  his  mother's  breast,  and  sell  him,  and  der 
little  children  as  is  crying  and  holding  on  by  her 
clothes, — don't  dey  pull  'em  off  and  sells  'em  ? 
Don't  dey  tear  wife  and  husband  apart  ?  "  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  beginning  to  cry,  "  when  it  's  jest  takin'  the 
very  life  on  'em  ? — and  all  the  while  does  they  feel 
one  bit, — don't  dey  drink  and  smoke,  and  take  it 
oncommon  easy  ?  Lor,  if  the  devil  don't  get  them, 
what  's  he  good  for  ?  "  And  Aunt  Chloe  covered 
her  face  with  her  checked  apron,  and  began  to  sob 
in  good  earnest. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  77 

"  Pray  for  them  that  'spitefully  use  you,  the  good 
book  says,"  says  Tom. 

"  Pray  for  'em  ?  "  said  Aunt  Chloe  ;  "  Lor,  it  *S 
too  tough  !     I  can't  pray  for  'em." 

"  It  's  natur,  Chloe,  and  natur  's  strong,"  said 
Tom,  "  but  the  Lord's  grace  is  stronger ;  besides, 
you  oughter  think  what  an  awful  state  a  poor  crit- 
tur's  soul  's  in  that  '11  do  them  ar  things, — you 
oughter  thank  God  that  you  an't  like  him,  Chloe. 
I  'm  sure  I  'd  rather  be  sold,  ten  thousand  times 
over,  than  to  have  all  that  ar  poor  crittur  's  got  to 
answer  for." 

"  So  'd  I,  a  heap,"  said  Jake.  "  Lor,  should  n't 
we  cotch  it,  Andy  ?  " 

Andy  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  gave  an  ac- 
quiescent whistle. 

"  I  'm  glad  Mas'r  did  n't  go  off  this  morning,  as 
he  looked  to,"  said  Tom  ;  "  that  ar  hurt  me  more 
than  sellin',  it  did.  Mebbe  it  might  have  been 
natural  for  him,  but  't  would  have  come  desp't  hard 
on  me,  as  has  known  him  from  a  baby ;  but  I'  ve 
seen  Mas'r,  and  I  begin  ter  feel  sort  o'  reconciled 
to  the  Lord's  will  now.  Masvr  could  n't  help  his- 
self ;  he  did  right,  but  I  'm  feared  things  will  be 
kinder  goin'  to  rack,  when  I  'm  gone.  Mas'r  can't 
be  spected  to  be  a  pryin'  round  everywhar,  as  I  've 
done,  a  keepin'  up  all  the  ends.  The  boys  all 
means  well,  but  they  's  powerfur  car'less.  That  ar 
troubles  me." 

The  bell  here  rang,  and  Tom  was  summoned  to 
the  parlor. 

"  Tom,"  said  his  master,  kindly,  "  I  want  you  to 
notice  that  I  give  this  gentleman  bonds  to  forfeit  a 
thousand  dollars  if  you  are  not  on  the  spot  when 
he  wants  you  ;  he  's  going  to-day  to  look  after  his 


78  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

other  business,  and  you  can  have  the  day  to  your- 
self.    Go  anywhere  you  like,  boy." 

"  Thank  you,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  mind  yerself,"  said  the  trader,  "  and  don't 
come  it  over  your  master  with  any  o'  yer  nigger 
tricks  ;  for  I  '11  take  every  cent  out  of  him,  if  you 
an 't  thar.  If  he  'd  hear  to  me,  he  would  n't  trust 
any  on  ye — slippery  as  eels  ! " 

"  Mas'r,"  said  Tom, — and  he  stood  very  straight, 
— "  I  was  jist  eight  years  old  when  ole  Missis  put 
you  into  my  arms,  and  you  was  n't  a  year  old. 
'  Thar,*  says  she,  '  Tom,  that 's  to  be  your  young 
Mas'r;  take  good  care  on  him,'  says  she.  And 
now  I  jist  ask  you,  Mas'r,  have  I  ever  broke  word 
to  you,  or  gone  contrary  to  you,  'specially  since  I 
was  a  Christian  ?  " 

Mr.  Shelby  was  fairly  overcome,  and  the  tears 
rose  to  his  eyes. 

"  My  good  boy,"  said  he,  "  the  Lord  knows  you 
say  but  the  truth ;  and  if  I  was  able  to  help  it,  all 
the  world  should  n't  buy  you." 

"  And  sure  as  I  am  a  Christian  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Shelby,  "  you  shall  be  redeemed  as  soon  as  I 
can  any  way  bring  together  means.  Sir,"  she  said 
to  Haley,  "  take  good  account  of  who  you  sell  him 
to,  and  let  me  know." 

"  Lor,  yes,  for  that  matter,"  said  the  trader,  "  I 
may  bring  him  up  in*  a  year,  not  much  the  wuss  for 
wear,  and  trade  him  back." 

"  I  '11  trade  with  you  then,  and  make  it  for  your 
advantage,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  trader,  "  all 's  equal  with 
me  ;  li'ves  trade  'em  up  as  down,  so  I  does  a  good 
business.  All  I  want  is  a  livin',  you  know,  ma'am ; 
that  's  all  any  on  us  wants,  I  s'pose." 


LIEE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  79 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  both  felt  annoyed  and  de- 
graded by  the  familiar  impudence  of  the  trader,  and 
yet  both  saw  the  absolute  necessity  of  putting  a 
constraint  on  their  feelings.  The  more  hopelessly 
sordid  and  insensible  he  appeared,  the  greater  be- 
came Mrs.  Shelby's  dread  of  his  succeeding  in  re- 
capturing Eliza  and  her  child,  and  of  course  the 
greater  her  motive  for  detaining  him  by  every  female 
artifice.  She  therefore  graciously  smiled,  assented, 
chatted  familiarly,  and  did  all  she  could  to  make 
time  pass  imperceptibly. 

At  two  o'clock  Sam  and  Andy  brought  the  horses 
up  to  the  posts,  apparently  greatly  refreshed  and 
invigorated  by  the  scamper  of  the  morning. 

Sam  was  there  new  oiled  from  dinner,  with  an 
abundance  of  zealous  and  ready  ofnciousness.  As 
Haley  approached,  he  was  boasting,  in  flourishing 
style,  to  Andy,  of  the  evident  and  eminent  success 
of  the  operation,  now  that  he  had  "  farly  come  to 
it." 

"  Your  master,  I  s'pose,  don't  keep  no  dogs,"  said 
Haley,  thoughtfully,  as  he  prepared  to  mount. 

"  Heaps  on  'em,"  said  Sam,  triumphantly  ; 
"  thar  's  Bruno — he  's  a  roarer  !  and,  besides  that, 
'bout  every  nigger  of  us  keeps  a  pup  of  some  natur 
or  uther."- 

"  Poh  !  "  said  Haley, — and  he  said  something  else, 
too,  with  regard  to  the  said  dogs,  at  which  Sam 
muttered, 

"  I  don't  see  no  use  cussin'  on  'em,  no  way." 

"  But  your  master  don't  keep  no  dogs  (I  pretty 
much  know  he  don't)  for  trackin'  out  niggers." 

Sam  knew  exactly  what  he  meant,  but  he  kept  on 
a  look  of  earnest  and  desperate  simplicity. 

"  Our  dogs  all  smells  round  consid'able  sharp.     I 


&o  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

spect  they  's  the  kind,  though  they  han't  never  had 
no  practice.  They  'sfar  dogs,  though,  at  most  any- 
thing, if  you  'd  get  'em  started.  Here,  Bruno,"  he 
called,  whistling  to  the  lumbering  Newfoundland, 
who  came  pitching  tumultuously  toward  them. 

"  You  go  hang  ! "  said  Haley,  getting  up.  "  Come, 
tumble  up  now." 

Sam  tumbled  up  accordingly,  dexterously  contriv- 
ing to  tickle  Andy  as  he  did  so,  which  occasioned 
Andy  to  split  out  into  a  laugh,  greatly  to  Haley's 
indignation,  who  made  a  cut  at  him  with  his  riding- 
whip. 

"  I  's  'stonished  at  yer,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  with 
awful  gravity.  "  This  yer  's  a  seris  business,  Andy. 
Yer  must  n't  be  a  makin'  game.  This  yer  an't  no 
way  to  help  Mas'r." 

"  I  shall  take  the  straight  road  to  the  river,"  said 
Haley,  decidedly,  after  they  had  come  to  the  bound- 
aries  of  the  estate.  "  I  know  the  way  of  all  of  'em, 
— they  makes  tracks  for  the  underground." 

"  Sartin,"  said  Sam,  "  dat  ?s  de  idee.  Mas'r 
Haley  hits  de  thing  right  in  de  middle.  Now,  der  's 
two  roads  to  de  river, — de  dirt  road  and  der  pike, 
— which  Mas'r  mean  to  take  ? " 

Andy  looked  up  innocently  at  Sam,  surprised  at 
hearing  this  new  geographical  fact,  but  instantly 
confirmed  what  he  said  by  a  vehement  reitera- 
tion. 

"  'Cause,"  said  Sam,  "  I  'd  rather  be  'clined  to 
'magine  that  'Lizy  'd  take  de  dirt  road,  bein'  it 's  the 
least  travelled." 

Haley,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  a  very  old 
bird,  and  naturally  inclined  to  be  suspicious  of  chaff, 
was  rather  brought  up  by  this  view  of  the  case. 

"If   yer   warn't   both    on  yer  such  cussed  liars, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  8 1 

now ! "  he  said,  contemplatively,  as   he  pondered  a 
moment. 

The  pensive,  reflective  tone  in  which  this  was 
spoken  appeared  to  amuse  Andy  prodigiously,  and 
he  drew  a  little  behind,  and  shook  so  as  apparently 
to  run  a  great  risk  of  falling  off  his  horse,  while 
Sam's  face  was  immovably  composed  into  the  most 
doleful  gravity. 

"  Course,"  said  Sam,  "  Mas'r  can  do  as  he  'd 
ruthur ;  go  de  straight  road,  if  Mas'r*  thinks  best, — 
it  s  all  one  to  us.  Now,  when  I  study  'pon  it,  I 
think  de  straight  road  de  best,  deridedly." 

"  She  would  naturally  go  a  lonesome  way,"  said 
Haley,  thinking  aloud,  and  not  minding  Sam's  re- 
mark. 

"  Dar  an't  no  sayin',"  said  Sam  ;  "  gals  is  pecular ; 
they  never  does  nothin'  ye  thinks  they  will ;  mose 
gen'lly  the  contrar.  Gals  is  nat'lly  made  contrary ; 
and  so,  if  you  thinks  they've  gone  one  road,  it  is 
sartin  you  'd  better  go  t'  other,  and  then  you  '11  be 
sure  to  find  'em.  Now,  my  private  'pinion  is,  'Lizy 
took  der  dirt  road  ;  so  I  think  we  'd  better  take  de 
straight  one." 

„  This  profound  generic  view  of  the  female  sex  did 
not  seem  to  dispose  Haley  particularly  to  the  straight 
road  ;  and  he  announced  decidedly  that  he  should 
go  the  other,  and  asked  Sam  when  they  should 
come  to  it. 

"  A  little  piece  ahead,"  said  Sam,  giving  a  wink 
to  Andy  with  the  eye  which  was  on  Andy's  side  of 
the  head  ;  and  he  added,  gravely,  "  but  I  've  studded 
on  de  matter,  and  I  'm  quite  clar  we  ought  not  to  go 
dat  ar  way.  I  nebber  been  over  it  no  way.  It's 
despit  lonesome,  and  we  might  lose  our  way, — whar 
we  'd  come  to,  de  Lord  only  knows." 


82  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Haley,  "  I  shall  go  that 
way." 

"  Now  I  think  on 't,  I  think  I  hearn  'em  tell  that 
dat  ar  road  was  all  fenced  up  and  down  by  der  creek,, 
and  thar,  an't  it,  Andy?" 

Andy  was  n't  certain;  he'd  only  "hearn  tell"' 
about  that  road,  but  never  been  over  it.  In  short, 
he  was  strictly  non-committal. 

'  Haley,  accustomed  to  strike  the  balance  of  prob- 
abilities between  lies  of  greater  or  lesser  magnitude, 
thought  that  it  lay  in  favor  of  the  dirt  road  afore- 
said. The  mention  of  the  thing  he  thought  he  per- 
ceived was  involuntary  on  Sam's  part  at  first,  and 
his  confused  attempts  to  dissuade  him  he  set  down 
to  a  desperate  lying  on  second  thoughts,  as  being 
unwilling  to  implicate  Eliza. 

When,  therefore,  Sam  indicated  the  road,  Haley 
plunged  briskly  into  it,  followed  by  Sam  and 
Andy. 

Now,  the  road,  in  fact,  was  an  old  one,  that  had 
formerly  been  a  thoroughfare  to  the  river,  but  aban- 
doned for  many  years  after  the  laying  of  the  new" 
pike.  It  was  open  for  about  an  hour's  ride,  and 
after  fhat  it  was  cut  across  by  various  farms  and 
fences.  Sam  knew  this  fact  perfectly  well, — in- 
deed, the  road  had  been  so  long  closed  up,  that 
Andy  had  never  heard  of  it.  He  therefore  rode 
along  with  an  air  of  dutiful  submission,  only  groan- 
ing and  vociferating  occasionally  that 't  was  "  desp't 
rough,  and  bad  for  Jerry's  foot." 

"  Now,  I  jest  give  yer  warning,"  said  Haley,  "  I 
know  yer  ;  yer  won't  get  me  to  turn  off  this  yer  road, 
with  all  yer  fussin' — so  you  shet  up  ! " 

"  Mas'r  will  go  his  own  way !  "  said  Sam,  with, 
rueful  submission,  at  the  same  time   winking  most 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  8$ 

portentously  to  Andy,  whose  delight  was  now  very- 
near  the  explosive  point. 

Sam  was  in  wonderful  spirits, — professed  to  keep 
a  very  brisk  look-out, — at  one  time  exclaiming  that 
he  saw  "  a  gal's  bonnet  "  on  the  top  of  some  distant 
eminence,  or  calling  to  Andy  "  if  that  thar  was  n't 
:  'Lizy '  down  in  the  hollow ;  "  always  making  these 
exclamations  in  some  rough  or  craggy  part  of  the 
road,  where  the  sudden  quickening  of  speed  was  a. 
special  inconvenience  to  all  parties  concerned,  and. 
thus  keeping  Haley  in  a  state  of  constant  commo- 
tion. 

After  riding  about  an  hour  in  this  way,  the  whole 
party  made  a  precipitate  and  tumultuous  descent 
into  a  barn-yard  belonging  to  a  large  farming  estab- 
lishment. Not  a  soul  was  in  sight,  all  the  hands 
being  employed  in  the  fields  ;  but,  as  the  barn  stood 
conspicuously  and  plainly  square  across  the  road,  it 
was  evident  that  their  journey  in  that  direction  had 
reached  a  decided  finale. 

"  Wan't  dat  ar  what  I  telled  Mas'r  ?  "  said  Sam? 
with  an  air  of  injured  innocence.  "  How  does 
strange  gentlemen  spect  to  know  more  about  a  coun- 
try dan  de  natives  born  and  raised  ? ". 

"  You  rascal !  "  said  Haley,  "  you  knew  all  about 
this." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  yer  I  kfiow'd,  and  yer  would  n't 
believe  me  ?  I  telled  Mas'r  't  was  all  shet  up,  and 
fenced  up,  and  I  did  n't  spect  we  could  get  through,, 
— Andy  heard  me." 

It  was  all  too  true  to  be  disputed,  and  the  un- 
lucky man  had  to  pocket  his  wrath  with  the  best 
grace  he  was  able,  and  all  three  faced  to  the  right 
about,  and  took  up  their  line  of  march  for  the  high- 
way. 


84  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

In  consequence  of  all  the  various  delays,  it  was 
about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  after  Eliza  had  laid 
her  child  to  sleep  in  the  village  tavern  that  the  party 
came  riding  into  the  same  place.  Eliza  was  stand- 
ing by  the  window,  looking  out  in  another  direction, 
when  Sam's  quick  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  her. 
Haley  and  Andy  were  two  yards  behind.  At  this 
crisis,  Sam  contrived  to  have  his  hat  blown  off,  and 
uttered  a  loud  and  characteristic  ejaculation,  which 
startled  her  at  once  ;  she  drew  suddenly  back  ;  the 
whole  train  swept  by  the  window,  round  to  the  front 
door. 

A  thousand  lives  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in 
that  one  moment  to  Eliza.  Her  room  opened  by  a 
side  door  to  the  river.  She  caught  her  child,  and 
sprang  down  the  steps  towards  it.  The  trader 
caught  a  full  glimpse  of  her,  just  as  she  was  disap- 
pearing down  the  bank  ;  and  throwing  himself  from 
Lis  horse,  and  calling  loudly  on  Sam  and  Andy,  he 
was  after  her  like  a  hound  after  a  deer.  In  that 
dizzy  moment  her  feet  to  her  scarce  seemed  to  touch 
the  ground,  and  a  moment  brought  her  to  the 
water's  edge.  Right  on  behind  they  came ;  and, 
nerved  with  strength  such  as  God  gives  only  to  the 
desperate,  with  one  wild  cry  and  flying  leap,  she 
vaulted  sheer  over  the  turbid  current  by  the  shore, 
on  to  the  raft  of  ice  beyond.  It  was  a  desperate 
leap — impossible  to  anything  but  madness  and  de- 
spair ;  and  Haley,  Sam,  and  Andy,  instinctively 
cried  out,  and  lifted  up  their  hands,  as  she  did  it. 

The  huge  green  fragment  of  ice  on  which  she 
alighted  pitched  and  creaked  as  her  weight  came  on 
it,  but  she  stayed  there  not  a  moment.  With  wild 
cries  and  desperate  energy  she  leaped  to  another 
and  still  another  cake  ; — stumbling — leaping — slip- 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  85 

ping — springing  upwards  again  !  Her  shoes  are 
gone — her  stockings  cut  from  her  feet — while  blood 
marked  every  step  ;  but  she  saw  nothing,  felt  noth- 
ing, till  dimly,  as  in  a  dream,  she  saw  the  Ohio  side, 
and  a  man  helping  her  up  the  bank. 

"  Yer  a  brave  gal,  now,  whoever  ye  ar  ! "  said 
the  man,  with  an  oath. 

Eliza  recognized  the  voice  and  face  of  a  man  who 
owned  a  farm  not  far  from  her  old  home. 

"  O,  Mr.  Symmes  ! — save  me — do  save  me — do 
hide  me  !  "  said  Eliza. 

"  Why,  what 's  this  ?  "  said  the  man.  "  Why,  if 
Jt  an't  Shelby's  gal  !  " 

"  My  child  ! — this  boy  ! — he  'd  sold  him  !  There 
is  his  Mas'r,"  said  she,  pointing  to  the  Kentucky 
shore.  "O,  Mr.  Symmes,  you  've  got  a  little 
boy!" 

"  So  I  have,"  said  the  man,  as  he  roughly,  but 
kindly,  drew  her  up  the  steep  bank.  "  Besides, 
you  're  a  right  brave  gal.  I  like  grit,  wherever  I 
see  it." 

When  they  had  gained  the  top  of  the  bank,  the 
man  paused. 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  do  something  for  ye,"  said  he ; 
"  but  then  thar  's  nowhar  I  could  take  ye.  The  best 
I  can  do  is  to  tell  ye  to  go  thar"  said  he,  pointing 
to  a  large  white  house  which  stood  by  itself,  off  the 
main  street  of  the  village.  "  Go  thar ;  they  're  kind 
folks.  Thar's  no  kind  o'  danger  but  they'll  help 
you, — they  're  up  to  all  that  sort  o'  thing." 

"  The  Lord  bless  you  ! "  said  Eliza  earnestly. 

"  No  'casion,  no  'casion  in  the  world,"  said  the 
man.     "  What  I  've  done  's  of  no  'count." 

"  And,  oh,  surely,  sir,  you  won't  tell  any  one  !  " 

"  Go  to  thunder,  gal !     What  do  you  take  a  feller 


86  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

for  ?  In  course  not,"  said  the  man.  "  Come,  now, 
go  along  like  a  likely,  sensible  gal,  as  you  are. 
You  've  arnt  your  liberty,  and  you  shall  have  it,  for 
all  me." 

The  woman  folded  her  child  to  her  bosom,  and 
walked  firmly  and  swiftly  away.  The  man  stood 
and  looked  after  her.  .     *  •, 

"  Shelby,  now,  mebbe  won't  think  this  yer  the 
most  neighborly  thing  in  the  world ;  but  what  's  a 
feller  to  do  ?  If  he  catches  one  of  my  gals  in  the 
same  fix,  he  's  welcome  to  pay  back.  Somehow  I 
never  could  see  no  kind  o'  critter  a  strivin'  and 
pantin',  and  trying  to  clar  theirselves,  with  the  dogs 
arter  'em,  and  go  agin  'em.  Besides,  I  don't  see 
no  kind  of  'casion  for  me  to  be  hunter  and  catcher 
for  other  folks,  neither." 

So  spoke  this  poor,  heathenish  Kentuckian,  who 
had  not  been  instructed  in  his  constitutional  re- 
lations, and  consequently  was  betrayed  into  acting 
in  a  sort  of  Christianized  manner,  which,  if  he  had 
been  better  situated  and  more  enlightened,  he  would 
not  have  been  left  to  do. 

Haley  had  stood  a  perfectly  amazed  spectator  of 
the  scene,  till  Eliza  had  disappeared  up  the  bank, 
when  he  turned  a  blank,  inquiring  look  on  Sam  and 
Andy. 

"  That  ar  was  a  tol'able  fair  stroke  of  business," 
said  Sam. 

"  The  gal 's  got  seven  devils  in  her,  I  believe  !  '* 
said  Haley.     "  How  like  a  wildcat  she  jumped  !  " 

"  Wal,  now,"  said  Sam,  scratching  his  head,  "  I 
hope  Mas'r  '11  'scuse  us  tryin'  dat  ar  road.  Don't 
think  I  feel  spry  enough  for  dat  ar,  no  way !  "  and 
Sam  gave  a  hoarse  chuckle. 

"  You  laugh  !  "  said  the  trader,  with  a  growl. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  87 

$1 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Mas'r,  I  could  n't  help  it,  now," 
said  Sam,  giving  way  to  the  long  pent-up  delight  of 
his  soul.  "  She  looked  so  curi's,  a  leapin'  and 
springin' — ice  a  crackin' — and  only  to  hear  her, — 
plump  !  ker  chunk  !  ker  splash  !  Spring !  Lord  ! 
how  she  goes  it  !  "  and  Sam  and  Andy  laughed  till 
the  tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks. 

"  I  '11  make  ye  laugh  t'  other  side  yer  mouths  !  " 
said  the  trader,  laying  about  their  heads  with  his 
riding-whip. 

Both  ducked,  and  ran  shouting  up  the  bank,  and 
were  on  their  horses  before  he  was  up. 

"  Good-evening,  Mas'  r !  "  said  Sam,  with  much 
gravity.  "  I  berry  much  spect  Missis  be  anxious 
'bout  Jerry.  Mas'r  Haley  won't  want  us  no  longer. 
Missis  wouldn't  hear  of  our  ridin'  the  critters  over 
'Lizy's  bridge  to-night ;  "  and,  with  a  facetious  poke 
into  Andy's  ribs,  he  started  off,  followed  by  the 
latter,  at  full  speed, — their  shouts  of  laughter  cdming 
faintly  on  the  wind. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Eliza  made  her  desperate  retreat  across  the  river 
just  in  the  dusk  of  twilight.  The  gray  mist  of  even- 
ing, rising  slowly  from  the  river,  enveloped  her  as 
she  disappeared  up  the  bank,  an9.  the  swollen  cur- 
rent and  floundering  masses  of  ice  presented  a  hope- 
less barrier  between  her  and  her  pursuer.  Haley 
therefore  slowly  and  discontentedly  returned  to  the 
little  tavern,  to  ponder  further  what  was  to  be  done. 
The  woman  opened  to  him  the  door  of  a  little  parlor, 
covered  with  a  rag  carpet,  where  stood  a  table  with  a 
very  shining  black  oil-cloth,  sundry  lank,  high-backed 
wood  chairs,  with  some  plaster  images  in  resplendent 


88  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

colors  on  the  mantel-shelf,  above  a  very  dimly-smok- 
ing grate  ;  a  long  hard-wood  settle  extended  its 
uneasy  length  by  the  chimney,  and  here  Haley  sat 
him  down  to  meditate  on  the  instability  of  human 
hopes  and  happiness  in  general. 

"  What  did  I  want  with  the  little  cuss,  now,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  that  I  should  have  got  myself  treed 
like  a  coon,  as  I  am,  this  yer  way  ? "  and  Haley 
relieved  himself  by  repeating  over  a  not  very  select 
litany  of  imprecations  on  himself,  which,  though 
there  was  the  best  possible  reason  to  consider  them 
as  true,  we  shall,  as  a  matter  of  taste,  omit. 

He  was  startled  by  the  loud  and  dissonant  voice 
of  a  man  who  was  apparently  dismounting  at  the 
door.     He  hurried  to  the  window 

"  By  the  land  !  if  this  yer  an't  the  nearest,  now,  to 
what  I  've  heard  folks  call  Providence,"  said  Haley. 
"I  do  b'lieve  that  ar  's  Tom  Loker." 

Haley  hastened  out.  Standing  by  the  bar,  in  the 
corner  of  the  room,  was  a  brawny,  muscular  man,  full 
six  feet  in  height,  and  broad  in  proportion.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  coat  of  buffalo-skin,  made  with  the  hair 
outward,  which  gave  him  a  shaggy  and  fierce  ap- 
pearance, perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  whole  air  of 
his  physiognomy.  In  the  head  and  face  every  organ 
and  lineament  expressive  of  brutal  and  unhesitating; 
violence  was  in  a*  state  of  the  highest  possible 
development.  Indeed,  could  our  readers  fancy  a 
bull-dog  come  unto  man's  estate,  and  walking  about 
in  a  hat  and  coat,  they  would  have  no  unapt  idea  of 
the  general  style  and  effect  of  his  physique.  He 
was  accompanied  by  a  travelling  companion,  in 
many  respects  an  exact  contrast  to  himself.  He  was 
short  and  slender,  lithe  and  cat-like  in  his  motions, 
and   had  a  peering  mousing  expression  about  his 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  #  89 

keen  black  eyes,  with  which  every  feature  of  his  face 
seemed  sharpened  into  sympathy ;  his  thin,  long- 
nose  ran  out  as  if  it  was  eager  to  bore  into  the 
nature  of  things  in  general ;  his  sleek,  thin,  black  hair 
was  stuck  eagerly  forward,  and  all  his  motions  and 
evolutions  expressed  a  dry,  cautious  acuteness.  The 
great  big  man  poured  out  a  big  tumbler  half  full  of 
raw  spirits,  and  gulped  it  down  without  a  word. 
The  little  man  stood  tiptoe,  and  putting  his  head 
first  to  one  side  and  then  to  the  other,  and  snuffing 
considerately  in  the  directions  of  the  yarious  bottles, 
ordered  at  last  a  mint  julep,  in  a  thin  and  quivering- 
voice,  and  with  an  air  of  great  circumspection. 
When  poured  out,  he  took  it  and  looked  at  it  with  a 
sharp,  complacent  air,  like  a  man  who  thinks  he  has 
done  about  the  right  thing,  and  hit  the  nail  on  the 
head,  and  proceeded  to  dispose  of  it  in  short  and 
well-advised  sips. 

M  Wal,  now,  who  'd  a  thought  this  yer  luck  'd 
come  to  me  ?  Why,  Loker,  how  are  ye  ? "  said 
Haley,  coming  forward,  and  extending  his  hand  to 
the  big  man. 

"  The  devil !  "  was  the  civil  reply.  "  What 
brought  you  here,  Haley  ? " 

The  mousing  man,  who  bore  the  name  of  Marks, 
instantly  stopped  his  sipping,  and,  poking  his  head 
forward,  looked  shrewdly  on  thecnew  acquaintance, 
as  a  cat  sometimes  looks  at  a  moving  dry  leaf,  or 
some  other  possible  object  of  pursuit. 

"  I  say,  Tom,  this  yer  's  the  luckiest  thing  in  the 
world.  I  'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hobble,  and  you  must  help 
me  out." 

"  Ugh  ?  aw !  like  enough  !  "  grunted  his  compla- 
cent acquaintance.  "  A  body  may  be  pretty  sure  of 
that,  when  you  're  glad  to  see  'em  ;  something  to  be 
made  off  of  'em.     What  's  the  blow  now  ? '"' 


90  •  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  You  've  got  a  friend  here  ?  "  said  Haley,  looking 
doubtfully  at  Marks  ;  "  partner,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have.  Here,  Marks  !  here  's  that  ar  fel- 
ler that  I  was  in  with  in  Natchez." 

"  Shall  be  pleased  with  his  acquaintance,"  said 
Marks,  thrusting  out  a  long,  thin  hand,  like  a  raven's 
claw.     "  Mr.  Haley,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  The  same,  sir,"  said  Haley.  "  And  now,  gentle- 
men, seein'  as  we've  met  so  happily,  I  think  I  '11  stand 
up  to  a  small  matter  of  a  treat  in  this  here  parlor. 
So,  now,  old  coon,"  said  he  to  the  man  at  the  bar, 
""get  us  hot  water,  and  sugar,  and  cigars,  and  plenty 
of  the  real  stuff,  and  we  '11  have  a  blow-out." 

Behold,  then,  the  candles  lighted,  the  fire  stimu- 
lated to  the  burning  point  in  the  grate,  and  our  three 
worthies  seated  round  a  table,  well  spread  with  all 
the  accessories  to  good  fellowship  enumerated  be- 
fore. 

Haley  began  a  pathetic  recital  of  his  peculiar 
troubles.  Loker  shut  up  his  mouth,  and  listened 
to  him  with  gruff  and  surly  attention.  Marks,  who 
was  anxiously  and  with  much  fidgeting  compound- 
ing a  tumbler  of  punch  to  his  own  peculiar  taste, 
occasionally  looked  up  from  his  employment,  and, 
poking  his  sharp  nose  and  chin  almost  into  Haley's 
face,  gave  the  most  earnest  heed  to  the  whole  narra- 
tive. The  conclusion  of  it  appeared  to  amuse  him 
■extremely,  for  he  shook  his  shoulders  and  sides  in 
silence,  and  perked  up  his  thin  lips  with  an  air  of 
great  internal  enjoyment. 

"  So,  then,  ye  'r  fairly  sewed  up,  an't  ye?7'  he 
said  ;  "  he  !  he  !  he  !     It  's  neatly  done,  too.'' 

"  This  yer  young-un  business  makes  lots  of 
trouble  in  the  trade,"  said  Haley,  dolefully. 

"  If  we  could  get  a  breed  of  gals  that  did  n't  care, 


LIFE  AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  91 

how,  for  their  young  uns,"  said  Marks  ;  "  tell  ye,  I 
think 't  would  be  'bout  the  greatest  mod'rn  improve- 
ment I  knows  on," — and  Marks  patronized  his  joke 
by  a  quiet  introductory  sniggle. 

"  Jes  so,"  said  Haley  ;  "  I  never  could  n't  see  into 
it ;  young  uns  is  heaps  of  trouble  to  'era  ;  one  would 
think,  now,  they  7d  be  glad  to  get  clar  on  'em ;  but 
they  arn't.  And  the  more  trouble  a  young  un  is, 
and  the  more  good  for  nothing,  as  a  gen'l  thing,  the 
tighter  they  sticks  to  'em." 

"  Wal,  Mr.  Haley,"  said  Marks,  "  jest  pass  the 
hot  water.  Yes,  sir  ;  you  say  jest  what  I  feel  and 
all'us  have.  Now,  I  bought  a  gal  once,  when  I  was 
in  the  trade, — a  tight,  likely  wench  she  was,  too,  and 
quite  considerable  smart, — and  she  had  a  young  un 
that  was  mis'able  sickly  ;  it  had  a  crooked  back,  or 
something  or  other  ;  and  I  jest  gin  't  away  to  a  man 
that  thought  he  'd  take  his  chance  raising  on 't,  being 
it  did  n't  cost  nothin' ; — never  thought,  yer  know,  of 
the  gal  's  takin'  on  about  it, — but,  Lord,  yer  oughter 
seen  how  she  went  on.  Why,  re'lly,  she  did  seem 
to  me  to  valley  the  child  more  'cause  V  was  sickly 
and  cross  and  plagued  her ;  and  she  warn't  making 
b'lieve,  neither, — cried  about  it,  she  did,  and  lopped 
round,  as  if  she  'd  lost  every  friend  she  had.  It 
re'lly  was  droll  to  think  on  't.  Lord,  there  an't  no 
end  to  women's  notions." 

"  Wal,  jest  so  with  me,"  said  Haley.  "  Last 
summer,  down  on  Red  river,  I  got  a  gal  traded  off 
on  me,  with  a  likely  lookin'  child  enough,  and  his 
eyes  looked  as  bright  as  yourn  ;  but,  come  to  look,  I 
found  him  stone  blind.  Fact — he  was  stone  blind. 
Wal,  ye  see,  I  thought  there  warn't  no  harm  in  my 
jest  passing  him  along,  and  not  sayin'  nothin' ;  and 
I  'd  got  him  nicely  swapped  off  for  a  keg  o'  whiskey ; 
8 


Q2  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

but  come  to  get  him  away  from  the  gal,  she  was  jest 
like  a  tiger.  So  't  was  before  we  started,  and  I  had 
n't  got  my  gang  chained  up  ;  so  what  should  she  do 
but  ups  on  a  cotton-bale,  like  a  cat,  ketches  a  knife 
from  one  of  the  deck  hands,  and,  I  tell  ye,  she  made 
all  fly  for  a  minit,  till  she  saw  't  wan't  no  use ;  and 
she  jest  turns  round,  and  pitches  head  first,  young 
un  and  all,  into  the  river, — went  down  plump,  and 
never  ris." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Tom  Loker,  who  had  listened  to 
these  stories  with  ill-depressed  disgust, — "shif'less, 
both  on  ye  !  my  gals  don't  cut  up  no  such  shines, 
I  tell  ye  !  " 

"  Indeed !  how  do  you  help  it  ? "  said  Marks, 
briskly. 

"  Help  it?  why,  I  buys  a  gal,  and  if  she  's  got  a. 
young  un  to  be  sold,  I  jest  walks  up  and  puts  my  fist- 
to  her  face,  and  says,  \  Look  here,  now,  if  you  give 
me  one  word  out  of  your  head,  I  '11  smash  yer  face 
in.  I  won't  hear  one  word — not  the  beginning  of  a 
word/  I  says  to  'em,  i  This  yer  young  un  's  mine, 
and  not  yourn,  and  you  've  no  kind  o'  business  with 
it.  I  'm  going  to  sell  it,  first  chance  ;  mind,  you 
don't  cut  up  none  o'  yer  shines  about  it,  or  I  '11  make 
ye  wish  ye  'd  never  been  born.  I  tell  ye,  they  sees 
it  an't  no  play,  when  I  gets  hold.  I  makes  'em  as 
whist  as  fishes  ;  and  if  one  on  'em  begins  and  gives 
a  yelp,  why, — "  and  Mr.  Loker  brought  down  his 
fist  with  a  thump  that  fully  explained  the  hiatus. 

"  That  ar  's  what  ye  may  call  emphasis"  said 
Marks,  poking  Haley  in  the  side,  and  going  into 
another  small  giggle.  "  An't  Tom  peculiar  ?  he  ! 
he  !  he  !  I  say,  Tom,  I  s'pect  you  makes  'em  under- 
stand, for  all  niggers'  heads  is  woolly.  They  don't 
never  have  no  doubt  o'  your  meaning,  Tom.     If  you. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  93 

an't  the  devil,  Tom,  you  's  his  twin  brother,  I  '11  say 
that  for  ye  ! " 

Tom  received  the  compliment  with  becoming 
modesty,  and  began  to  look  as  affable  as  was  con- 
sistent, as  John  Bunyan  says,  "  with  his  doggish 
nature." 

Haley,  who  had  been  imbibing  very  freely  of  the 
staple  of  the  evening,  began  to  feel  a  sensible  ele- 
vation and  enlargement  of  his  moral  faculties, — 
a  phenomenon  not  unusual  with  gentlemen  of  a 
serious  and  reflective  turn,  under  similar  circum- 
stances. 

"  Wal,  now,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  ye  re'lly  is  too  bad, 
as  I  al'ays  have  told  ye ;  ye  know,  Tom,  you  and  I 
used  to  talk  over  these  yer  matters  down  in  Natchez, 
and  I  used  to  prove  to  ye  that  we  made  full  as 
much,  and  was  as  well  off  for  this  yer  world,  by 
treatin'  on  'em  well,  besides  keepin'  a  better  chance 
for  comin'  in  the  kingdom  at  last,  when  wust  comes 
to  wust,  and  thar  an't  nothing  else  left  to  get,  ye 
know." 

"  Boh  !  "  said  Tom,  "don't  I  know? — don't  make 
me  too  sick  with  any  yer  stuff, — my  stomach  is  a 
leetle  riled  now ; "  and  Tom  drank  half  a  glass  of 
raw  brandy. 

"  I  say,"  said  Haley,  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  gesturing  impressively,  "  I  '11  say  this  now,.  % 
al'ays  meant  to  drive  my  trade  so  as  to  make  money- 
on  't,  fust  and foremost,  as  much  as  any  man  ;  but,., 
then,  trade  an't  everything,  and  money  an't  every- 
thing, 'cause  we  's  all  got  souls.  I  don't  care,  now, 
who  hears  me  say  it, — and  I  think  a  cussed  sight  on 
it, — so  I  may  as  well  come  out  with  it.  I  b'lieve  in. 
religion,  and  one  of  these  days,  when  I  've  got  matters, 
tight  and  snug,  I  calculates  to  tend  to  my  soul  and. 


94  .UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

them  ar  matters;  and  so  what's  the  use  of  doin' 
any  more  wickedness  than  's  re'lly  necessary? — it 
don't  seem  tome  it 's  't  all  prudent." 

"  Tend  to  yer  soul !  "  repeated  Tom,  contemptu- 
ously ;  "  take  a  bright  look-out  to  find  a  soul  in 
you, — save  yourself  any  care  on  that  score.  If  the 
devil  sifts  you  through  a  hair  sieve,  he  won't  find 
one." 

"  Why,  Tom,  you're  cross, "  said  Haley  ;  "  why 
can't  ye  take  it  pleasant,  now,  when  a  feller's  talk- 
ing for  your  good  ?  " 

"  Stop  that  ar  jaw  o'  yourn,  there,"  said  Tom, 
gruffly.  "  I  can  stand  most  any  talk  o'  yourn  but 
your  pious  talk,— that  kills  me  right  up.  After  all, 
what 's  the  odds  between  me  and  you  ?  'T  an't  that 
you  care  one  bit  more,  or  have  a  bit  more  f eelin', — 
it 's  clean,  sheer,  dog  meanness,  wanting  to  cheat  the 
devil  and  save  your  own  skin ;  don't  I  see  through 
it  ?  And  your  '  gettin'  religion,'  as  you  call  it,  arter 
all,  is  too  p'isin  mean  for  any  crittur ;— run  up  a 
bill  with  the  devil  all  your  life,  and  then  sneak  out 
when  pay  time  comes  !     Boh  !  " 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen,  I  say  ;  this  is  n't  busi- 
ness," said  Marks.  "  There  's  different  ways,  you 
know,  of  looking  at  all  subjects.  Mr.  Haley  is  a 
very  nice  man,  no  doubt,  and  has  his  own  con- 
science ;  and,  Tom,  you  have  your  ways,  and  very 
good  ones,  too,  Tom ;  but  quarrelling,  you  know, 
won't  answer  no  kind  of  purpose.  Let 's  go  to  busi- 
ness. Now,  Mr.  Haley,  what  is  it? — you  want  us 
to  undertake  to  catch  this  yer  gal  ? " 

"The  gal 's  no  matter  of  mine, — she  's  Shelby's  ; 
it's  only  the  boy.  I  was  a  fool  for  buying  the  mon- 
key !  " 

"  You  're  generally  a  fool  !  "  said  Tom,  gruffly. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  9$ 

"  Come,  now,  Loker,  none  of  your  huffs,"  said 
Marks,  licking  his  lips  ;  "  you  see,  Mr.  Haley 's  a 
puttin'  us  in  a  way  of  a  good  job,  I  reckon  ;  just 
hold  still, — these  yer  arrangements  is  my  forte. 
This  yer  gal,  Mr.  Haley,  how  is  she  ?  what  is  she  ? " 

"  Wal !  white  and  handsome — well  brought  up. 
I'da  gin  Shelby  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand,  and 
then  made  well  on  her." 

"White  and  handsome — well  brought  up  !  "  said 
Marks,  his  sharp  eyes,  nose  and  mouth  all  alive 
with  enterprise.  "  Look  here,  now,  Loker,  a  beau- 
tiful opening.  We'll  do  a  business  here  on  our  own- 
account  ; — we  does  the  catchin' ;  the  boy,  of  course, 
goes  to  Mr.  Haley, — we  takes  the  gal  to  Orleans  to 
speculate  on.     An't  it  beautiful  ? " 

Tom,  whose  great  heavy  mouth  had  stood  ajar 
during  this  communication,  now  suddenly  snapped 
it  together,  as  a  big  dog  closes  on  a  piece  of  meat, 
and  seemed  to  be  digesting  the  idea  at  his  leisure. 

"  Ye  see,"  said  Marks  to  Haley,  stirring  his  punch 
as  he  did  so,  "  ye  see,  we  has  justices  convenient  at 
all  p'ints  along  shore,  that  does  up  any  little  jobs 
in  our  line  quite  reasonable.  Tom,  he  does  the 
knockin'  down  and  that  ar ;  and  I  come  in  all 
dressed  up — shining  boots — everything  first  chop, 
when  the  swearin'  's  to  be  done.  You  oughter  see, 
now,"  said  Marks,  in  a  glow  of  professional  pride, 
"  how  I  can  tone  it  off.  One  day,  I  'm  Mr.  Twickem, 
from  New  Orleans  ;  'nother  day,  I  'm  just  come  from 
my  plantation  on  Pearl  river,  where  I  works  seven 
hundred  niggers ;  then,  again,  I  come  out  a  distant 
relation  of  Henry  Clay,  or  some  old  cock  in  Ken- 
tuck.  Talents  is  different,  you  know.  Now,  Tom  's 
a  roarer  when  there  's  any  thumping  or  righting  to 
be  done  ;  but  at  lying  he  an't  good,  Tom  an't, — ye 


96  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

see  it  don't  come  natural  to  him  ;  but,  Lord,  if 
thar  's  a  feller  in  the  country  that  can  swear  to  any- 
thing and  everything,  and  put  in  all  the  circum- 
stances and  flourishes  with  a  longer  face,  and  carry  't 
through  better  'n  I  can,  why,  I  'd  like  to  see  him, 
that 's  all !  I  b'lieve  my  heart,  I  could  get  along 
and  snake  through,  even  if  justices  were  more  par- 
ticular than  they  is.  Sometimes,  I  rather  wish  they 
was  more  particular ;  't  would  be  a  heap  more  rel- 
ishin'  if  they  was, — more  fun,  yer  know." 

Tom  Loker,  who,  as  we  have  made  it  appear,  was 
a  man  of  slow  thoughts  and  movements,  here  inter- 
rupted Marks  by  bringing  his  heavy  fist  down  on 
the  table,  so  as  to  make  all  ring  again.  "  //  11  do  /  " 
he  said. 

"  Lord  bless  ye,  Tom,  ye  need  n't  break  all  the 
glasses !  "  said  Marks  ;  "  save  your  fist  for  time  o' 
need." 

"  But,  gentlemen,  an't  I  to  come  in  for  a  share  of 
the  profits  ?  "  said  Haley. 

"  An't  it  enough  we  catch  the  boy  for  ye  ?  "  said 
Loker.     "  What  do  ye  want  ?  " 

"  Wal,"  said  Haley,  "  if  I  gives  you  the  job,  it 's 
worth  something, — say  ten  per  cent,  on  the  profits, 
expenses  paid." 

"  Now,"  said  Loker,  with  a  tremendous  oath,  and 
striking  the  table  with  his  heavy  fist,  "  don't  I 
know  you,  Dan  Haley  ?  Don't  you  think  to  come 
it  over  me  !  Suppose  Marks  and  I  have  taken  up 
the  catchin'  trade,  jest  to  'commodate  gentlemen 
like  you,  and  get  nothin'  for  ourselves  ? — Not  by  a 
long  chalk  !  we  '11  have  the  gal  out  and  out,  and  you 
keep  quiet,  or,  ye  see,  we  '11  have  both, — what 's  to 
hinder  ?  Han't  you  show'd  us  the  game  ?  It 's  as 
free  to  us  as  you,  I  hope.     If  you  or  Shelby  wants 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  97 

^:o  chase  us,  look  where  the  partridges  was  last  year; 
if  you  find  them  or  us,  you  're  quite  welcome." 

"  O,  wal,  certainly,  jest  let  it  go  at  that,"  said 
Haley,  alarmed  ;  "  you  catch  the  boy  for  the  job  ; — 
you  allers  did  trade  far  with  me,  Tom,  and  was  up 
to  yer  word." 

".Ye  know  that,"  said  Tom;  "I  don't  pretend 
none  of  your  snivelling  ways,  but  I  won't  lie  in  my 
,  'counts  with  the  devil  himself.  What  I  ses  I  '11  do, 
I  will  do, — you  know  that,  Dan  Haley." 

"  Jes  so,  jes  so, — I  said  so,  Tom,"  said  Haley; 
"  and  if  you  'd  only  promise  to  have  the  boy  for  me 
in  a  week,  at  any  point  you  '11  name,  that 's  all  I 
want." 

"  But  it  an't  all  I  want,  by  a  long  jump,"  said 
Tom.  "  Ye  don't  think  I  did  business  with  you, 
down  in  Natchez,  for  nothing,  Haley  ;  I  've  learned 
to  hold  an  eel,  when  I  catch  him.  You  've  got  to 
fork  over  fifty  dollars,  flat  down,  or  this  child  don't 
start  a  peg.      I  know  yer." 

"  Why,  when  you  have  a  job  in  hand  that  may 
bring  a  clean  profit  of  somewhere  about  a  thousand 
or  sixteen  hundred,  why,  Tom,  you  're  onreason- 
able,"  said  Haley. 

"  Yes,  and  has  n't  we  business  booked  for  five 
weeks  to  come, — all  we  can  do  ?  And  suppose  we 
leaves  all,  and  goes  to  bushwhacking  round  arter 
yer  young  un,  and  finally  doesn't  catch  the  gal, — 
and  gals  allers  is  the  devil  to  catch, — what 's  then  ? 
would  you  pay  us  a  cent — would  you  ?  I  think  I 
see  you  a  doin'  it — ugh  !  No,  no  ;  flap  down  your 
fifty.  If  we  get  the  job,  and  it  pays,  I  '11  hand  it 
back;  if  we  don't,  it's  for  our  trouble, — that's  far, 
.an't  it,  Marks  ? " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Marks,  with  a  con- 


98  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :   OR, 

ciliatory  tone  ;  "  it 's  only  a  retaining  fee,  you  see, 
— he !  he  !  he  ! — we  lawyers,  you  know.  Wal,  we 
must  all  keep  good-natured, — keep  easy,  yer  know. 
Tom  '11  have  the  boy  for  yer,  anywhere  ye  '11  name  ; 
won't  ye,  Tom  ?  " 

"  If  I  find  the  young  un,  I  '11  bring  him  on  to 
Cincinnati,  and  leave  him  at  Granny  Belcher's,  on 
the  landing,"  said  Loker.  . 

Marks  had  got  from  his  pocket  a  greasy  pocket- 
book,  and  taking  a  long  paper  from  thence,  he  sat 
down,  and  fixing  his  keen  black  eyes  on  it,  began 
mumbling  over  its  contents  :  "  Barnes — Shelby 
county — boy  Jim,  three  hundred  dollars  for  him, 
dead  or  alive. 

"  Edwards — Dick  and  Lucy — man  and  wife,  six 
hundred  dollars ;  wench  Polly  and  two  children — 
six  hundred  for  her  or  her  head. 

"  I  'm  jest  a  runnin'  over  our  business,  to  see  if 
we  can  take  up  this  yer  handily.  Loker,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause,  "  we  must  set  Adams  and  Springer  on 
the  track  of  these  yer ;  they  've  been  booked  some 
time." 

"  They  '11  charge  too  much,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  '11  manage  that  ar ;  they  's  young  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  must  spect  to  work  cheap,"  said  Marks,  as 
he  continued  to  read.  "  Ther  's  three  on  'em  easy 
cases,  'cause  all  you  've  got  to  do  is  to  shoot  'em, 
or  swear  they  is  shot;  they  could  n't,  of  course, 
charge  much  for  that.  Them  other  cases,"  he  said, 
folding  the  paper,  "  will  bear  puttin'  off  a  spell.  So 
now  let 's  come  to  the  particulars.  Now,  Mr.  Haley, 
you  saw  this  yer  gal  when  she  landed  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure, — plain  as  I  see  you." 

"  And  a  man  helpin'  on  her  up  the  bank  ?  "  said 
Loker. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY. 


99 


"To  be  sure,  I  did." 

"  Most  likely,"  said  Marks,  "  she  's  took  in  some- 
where ;  but  where,  's  a  question.  Tom,  what  do 
you  say  ?  " 

"  We  must  cross  the  river  to-night,  no  mistake," 
said  Tom. 

"  But  there 's  no  boat  about,"  said  Marks.  "  The 
ice  is  running  awfully,  Tom  ;  an't  it  dangerous  ?  " 

"  Dori'no  nothing  'bout  that, — only  it  's  got  to  be 
done,"  said  Tom,  decidedly. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Marks,  fidgeting,  "it'll  be— I 
say,"  he  said,  walking  to  the  window,  "it 's  dark  as 
a  wolf's  mouth,  and,  Tom — " 

"  The  long  and  short  is,  you  're  scared,  Marks  ; 
but  I  can't  help  that, — you  've  got  to  go.  Suppose 
you  want  to  lie  by  a  day  or  two,  till  the  gal  's  been 
carried  on  the  underground  line  up  to  Sandusky  or 
so,  before  you  start." 

"  O,  no ;  I  an't  a  grain  afraid,"  said  Marks, 
"  only—" 

"  Only  what  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  about  the  boat.  Yer  see  there  an't  any 
boat."  • 

"  I  heard  the  woman  say  there  was  one  coming 
along  this  evening,  and  that  a  man  was  going  to 
cross  over  in  it.  Neck  or  nothing,  we  must  go 
with  him,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  s'pose  you  've  got  good  dogs,"  said  Haley. 

"  First  rate,"  said  Marks.  "  But  what  's  the  use  ? 
you  han't  got  nothin'  o'  hers  to  smell  on." 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Haley,  triumphantly. 
"  Here  's  her  shawl  she  left  on  the  bed  in  her  hurry ; 
she  left  her  bonnet,  too." 

"  That  ar  's  lucky,"  said  Loker  ;  "  fork  over." 

"  Though  the  dogs  might  damage  the  gal,  if  they 
come  on  her  unawars,"  said  Haley. 


TOO  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  I    OR, 

"  That  ar  's  a  consideration,"  said  Marks.  "  Our 
'dogs  tore  a  feller  half  to  pieces,  once,  down  in 
Mobile,  'fore  we  could  get  'em  off." 

"  Well,  ye  see,  for  this  sort  that  's  to  be  sold  for 
^their  'looks,  that  ar  won't  answer,  ye  see,"  said 
.Haley. 

"I -.do  see,"  said  Marks.  "  Besides,  if  she  's  got 
■tookiin,  'tan't  no  go,  neither.  Dogs  is  no  'count  in 
?these  yer  up  states  where  these  critters  gets  carried ; 
of  course,  ye  can't  get  on  their  track.  They  only 
does  down  in  plantations,  where  niggers,  when  they 
zuns,  has  to  do  their  own  running,  and  don't  get  no 
help." 

"  Well,"  said  Loker,  who  had  just  stepped  out  to 
the  bar  to  make  some  inquiries,  "  they  say  the  man's 
come  with  the  boat ;  so,  Marks — " 

That  worthy  cast  a  rueful  look  at  the  comfortable 
quarters  he  was  leaving,  but  slowly  rose  to  obey. 
After  exchanging  a  few  words  of  further  arrange- 
ment, Haley,  with  visible  reluctance,  handed  over 
the  fifty  dollars  to  Tom,  and  the  worthy  trio  separated 
-iorthe  night. 

If  any  of  our  refined  and  Christian  readers  object 
^o  the  society  into  which  this  scene  introduces  them, 
let  us  beg  them  to  begin  and  conquer  their  prejudices 
in  time.  The  catching  business,  we  beg  to  remind 
them,  is  rising  to  the  dignity  of  a  lawful  and  patriotic 
-profession.  If  all  the  broad  land  between  the  Miss- 
issippi and  the  Pacific  becomes  one  great  market 
for  bodies  and  souls,  and  human  property  retains 
the  locomotive  tendencies  of  this  nineteenth  century, 
the  trader  and  catcher  may  yet  be  among  our  aris- 
i  tocracv. 


While  this  scene  was  going  on  at  the  tavern,  Sam 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 01 

and  Andy,  in  a  state  of  high  felicitation,  pursued 
their  way  home. 

Sam  was  in  the  highest  possible  feather,  and  ex- 
pressed his  exultation  by  all  sorts  of  supernatural 
howls  and  ejaculations,  by  divers  odd  motions  and 
contortions  of  his  whole  system.  Sometimes  he 
would  sit  backward,  with  his  face  to  the  horse's 
tail  and  sides,  and  then,  with  a  whoop  and  a  somer- 
set, come  right  side  up  in  his  place  again,  and,  draw- 
ing on  a  grave  face,  begin  to  lecture  Andy  in  high- 
sounding  tones  for  laughing  and  playing  the  fool. 
Anon,  slapping  his  sides  with  his  arms,  he  would 
burst  forth  in  peals  of  laughter,  that  made  the  old 
woods  ring  as  they  passed.  With  all  these  evolu- 
tions, he  contrived  to  keep  the  horses  up  to  the  top 
of  their  speed,  until,  between  ten  and  eleven,  their 
heels  resounded  on  the  gravel  at  the  end  of  the 
balcony.     Mrs.  Shelby  flew  to  the  railings. 

"  Is  that  you,  Sam  ?     Where  are  they  ? " 

"  Mas'r  Haley 's  a-restin'  at  the  tavern  ;  he 's  drefful 
fatigued,  Missis." 

"  And  Eliza,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Wal,  she  's  clar  'cross  Jordan.  As  a  body  may 
say,  in  the  land  o'  Canaan." 

"  Why,  Sam,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Shelby,  breathless,  and  almost  faint,  as  the  possible 
meaning  of  these  words  came  over  her. 

"Wal,  Missis,  de  Lord  he  persarves  his  own. 
'Lizy  's  done  gone  over  the  river  into  'Hio,  as  'mark- 
ably  as  if  de  Lord  took  her  over  in  a  charrit  of  fire 
and  two  hosses." 

Sam's  vein  of  piety  was  always  uncommonly 
fervent  in  his  mistress'  presence ;  and  he  made 
great  capital  of  scriptural  figures  and  images. 

"  Come  up  here,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  who  had 


I  02  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

followed  on  to  the  verandah,  "  and  tell  your  mistress 
what  she  wants.  Come,  come,  Emily,"  said  he, 
passing  his  arm  round  her,  "  you  are  cold  and  alt 
in  a  shiver ;  you  allow  yourself  to  feel  too  much." 

"  Feel  too  much  !  Am  not  I  a  woman, — a. 
mother  ?  Are  we  not  both  .  responsible  to  God  for 
this  poor  girl  ?  My  God  !  lay  not  this  sin  to  our 
charge." 

"  What  sin,  Emily  ?  You  see  yourself  that  we. 
have  only  done  what  we  were  obliged  to." 

"There  's  an  awful  feeling  of  guilt  about  it, 
though,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby.  "  I  can't  reason  it 
away." 

"  Here,  Andy,  you  nigger,  be  alive  !  "  called  Sam, 
under  the  verandah  ;  "  take  these  yer  hosses  to  der 
barn;  don't  yer  hear  Mas'r  a  callin' ? "  and  Sam 
soon  appeared,  palm-leaf  in  hand,  at  the  parlor  door. 

"  Now,  Sam,  tell  us  distinctly  how  the  matter 
was,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "  Where  is  Eliza,  if  you 
know  ?  " 

"  Wal,  Mas'r,  I  saw  her,  with  my  own  eyes,  a 
crossin'  on  the  floatin'  ice.  She  crossed  most 
'markably  ;  it  was  n't  no  less  nor  a  miracle  ;  and  I 
saw  a  man  help  her  up  the  'Hio  side,  and  then  she 
was  lost  in  the  dusk." 

"  Sam,  I  think  this  rather  apocryphal,— -this; 
miracle.  Crossing  on  floating  ice  is  n't  so  easily 
done,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  Easy !  could  n't  nobody  a  done  it,  widout  the 
Lord.  Why,  now,"  said  Sam,  "  't  was  jist  dis  yer 
way.  Mas'r  Haley,  and  me,  and  Andy,  we  comes 
up  to  de  little  tavern  by  the  river,  and  I  rides  a. 
leetle  ahead, — (I's  so  zealous  to  be  acotchin'  'Lizy, 
that  I  could  n't  hold  in,  no  way), — and  when  I  comes 
by  the   tavern  winder,  sure  enough,  there  she  was 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  103 

right  in  plain  sight,  and  dey  diggin'  on  behind. 
Wal,  I  loses  off  my  hat,  and  sings  out  nuff  to  raise 
the  dead.  Course  'Lizy  she  hars,  and  she  dodges 
back,  when  Mas'r  Haley  he  goes  past  the  door ; 
and  then,  I  tell  ye,  she  clared  out  de  side  door ;  she 
went  down  the  river  bank ; — Mas'r  Haley  he  seed 
her,  and  yelled  out,  and  him,  and  me,  and  Andy, 
we  took  arter.  Down  she  come  to  the  river,  and 
thar  was  the  current  running  ten  feet  wide  by  the 
shore,  and  over  t'  other  side  ice  a  sawin'  and  a  jig- 
gling up  and  down,  kinder  as  't  were  a  great  island. 
We  come  right  behind  her,  and  I  thought  my  soul 
he  'd  got  her  sure  enough, — when  she  gin  sich  a 
screech  as  I  never  hearn,  and  thar  she  was,  clar 
over  t'  other  side  the  current,  on  the  ice,  and  then 
on  she  went,  a  screeching  and  a  jumpin', — the  ice 
went  crack  !  c'wallop  !  cracking  !  chunk  !  and  she  a 
boundin'  like  a  buck  !  Lord,  the  spring  that  ar 
gal  's  got  in  her  an't  common,  I'm  o'  'pinion." 

Mrs.  Shelby  sat  perfectly  silent,  pale  with  excite- 
ment, while  Sam  told  his  story. 

"  God  be  praised,  she  is  n't  dead  !  "  she  said  ; 
f  but  where  is  the  poor  child  now  ?  " 

"  De  Lord  will  pervide,"  said  Sam,  rolling  up  his 
•eyes  piously.  "  As  I  've  been  a  sayin',  dis  yer  's  a 
providence  and  no  mistake,  as  Missis  has  allers 
been  a  instructin'  on  us.  Thar  's  allers  instruments 
ris  up  to  do  de  Lord's  will.  Now,  if  't  had  n't  been 
for  me  to-day,  she  'd  a  been  took  a  dozen  times. 
Warn't  it  I  started  off  de  hosses,  dis  yer  mornin', 
and  kept  'em  chasin'  till  nigh  dinner  time  ?  And 
did  n't  I  car  Mas'r  Haley  nigh  five  miles  out  of  de 
road,  dis  evening,  or  else  he  'd  a  come  up  with  'Lizy 
as  easy  as  a  dog  arter  a  coon.  These  yer  's  all 
providences." 


104  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  *    OR, 

"  They  are  a  kind  of  providence  that  you  '11  have 
to  be  pretty  sparing  of,  Master  Sam.  I  allow  no 
such  practices  with  gentlemen  on  my  place,"  said 
Mr.  Shelby,  with  as  much  sternness  as  he  could, 
command,  under  the  circumstances. 

Now,  there  is  no  more  use  in  making  believe  be 
angry  with  a  negro  than  with  a  child ;  both  instinct- 
ively see  the  true  state  of  the  case,  through  all 
attempts  to  affect  the  contrary  ;  and  Sam  was  in  no 
wise  disheartened  by  this  rebuke,  though  he  as- 
sumed an  air  of  doleful  gravity,  and  stood  with  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  lowered  in  most  penitential 
style. 

"  Mas'r  's  quite  right, — quite  ;  it  was  ugly  on  me, 
— there  's  no  disputin'  that  ar ;  and  of  course 
Mas'r  and  Missis  would  n't  encourage  no  such 
works.  I  'm  sensible  of  dat  ar  ;  but  a  poor  nigger 
like  me  's  'mazin'  tempted  to  act  ugly  sometimes, 
when  fellers  will  cut  up  such  shines  as  that  ar 
Mas'r  Haley  ;  he  an't  no  gen'l'man  no  way ;  any- 
body 's  been  raised  as  I  've  been  can't  help  a  seem' 
dat  ar." 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "  as  you  appear 
to  have  a  proper  sense  of  your  errors,  you  may  go 
now  and  tell  Aunt  Chloe  she  may  get  you  some  of 
that  cold  ham  that  was  left  of  dinner  to-day.  You 
and  Andy  must  be  hungry." 

"  Missis  is  a  heap  too  good  for  us,"  said  Sam, 
making  his  bow  with  alacrity,  and  departing. 

It  will  be  perceived,  as  has  been  before  intimated, 
that  Master  Sam  had  a  native  talent  that  might,  un- 
doubtedly, have  raised  him  to  eminence  in  political 
life, — a  talent  of  making  capital  out  of  everything- 
that  turned  up,  to  be  invested  for  his  own  especial 
praise  and  glory  ;  and  having  done  up  his  piety  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  I05, 

humility,  as  he  trusted,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the- 
parlor,  he  clapped  his  palm-leaf  on  his  head,  with  a, 
sort  of  rakish,  free-and-easy  air,  and  proceeded  to' 
the  dominions  of  Aunt  Chloe,  with  the  intention  of: 
flourishing  largely  in  the  kitchen. 

"  I  '11  speechify  these  yer  niggers,""  said  Sam  to- 
himself,  "  now  I  've  got  a  chance.  Lord,  I  '11  reel  it: 
off  to  make  'em  stare !  " 

It  must  be  observed  that  one  of  Sam's  especial, 
delights  had  been  to  ride  in  attendance  on  his. 
master  to  all  kinds  of  political  gatherings,  where,, 
roosted  on  some  rail  fence,  or  perched  aloft  in  some 
tree,  he  would  sit  watching  the  orators,  with  the: 
greatest  apparent  gusto,  and  then,  descending  among; 
the  various  brethren  of  his  own  color,  assembled  on 
the  same  errand,  he  would  edify  and  delight  therm 
with  the  most  ludicrous  burlesques  and  imitations,, 
all  delivered  with  the  most  imperturbable  earnest- 
ness and  solemnity  ;  and  though  the  auditors  im- 
mediately about  him  were  generally  of  his  own  color,, 
it  not  unfrequently  happened  that  they  were  fringed, 
pretty  deeply  with  those  of  a  fairer  complexion, 
who  listened,  laughing  and  winking,  to  Sam's  great 
self-congratulation.  In  fact,  Sam  considered  oratory 
as  his  vocation,  and  never  let  slip  an  opportunity 
of  magnifying  his  office. 

Now,  between  Sam  and  Aunt  Chloe  there  had. 
existed,  from  ancient  times,  a  sort  of  chronic  feud,, 
or  rather  a  decided  coolness ;  but,  as  Sam  was. 
meditating  something  in  the  provision  department,, 
as  the  necessary  and  obvious  foundation  of  his  opera- 
tions, he  determined,  on  the  present  occasion,  to  be- 
eminently  conciliatory ;  for  he  well  knew  that 
although  "  Missis'  orders  "  would  undoubtedly  be 
followed  to  the  letter,   yet  he  should  gain  a  con- 


io6  uncle  Tom's  cabin  :  or, 

siderable  deal  by  enlisting  the  spirit  also.  He 
therefore  appeared  before  Aunt  Chloe  with  a  touch- 
ingly  subdued,  resigned  expression,  like  one  who 
has  suffered  immeasurable  hardships  in  behalf  of  a 
persecuted  fellow-creature — enlarged  upon  the  fact 
that  Missis  had  directed  him  to  come  to  Aunt 
Chloe  for  whatever  might  be  wanting  to  make  up 
the  balance  in  his  solids  and  fluids, — and  thus  un- 
equivocally acknowledged  her  right  and  supremacy 
in  the  cooking  department,  and  all  thereto  pertain- 
ing. 

The  thing  took  accordingly.  No  poor,  simple, 
virtuous  body  was  ever  cajoled  by  the  attentions 
of  an  electioneering  politician  with  more  ease  than 
Aunt  Chloe  was  won  over  by  Master  Sam's 
suavities ;  and  if  he  had  been  the  prodigal  soil 
himself,  he  could  not  have  been  overwhelmed  with 
more  maternal  bountifulness  ;  and  he  soon  found 
himself  seated,  happy  and  glorious,  over  a  large  tin 
pan,  containing  a  sort  of  olla  podrida  of  all  that  had 
appeared  on  the  table  for  two  or  three  days  past. 
Savory  morsels  of  ham,  golden  blocks  of  corn-cake, 
fragments  of  pie  of  every  conceivable  mathematical 
figure,  chicken  wings,  gizzards,  and  drumsticks,  all 
appeared  in  picturesque  confusion  ;  and  Sam,  as 
monarch  of  all  he  surveyed,  sat  with  his  palm-leaf 
cocked  rejoicingly  to  one  side,  and  patronizing  Andy 
at  his  right  hand. 

The  kitchen  was  full  of  all  his  compeers,  who  had 
hurried  and  crowded  in,  from  the  various  cabins,  to 
hear  the  termination  of  the  day's  exploits.  Now  was 
Sam's  hour  of  glory.  The  story  of  the  day  was 
rehearsed,  with  all  kinds  of  ornament  and  varnish- 
ing which  might  be  necessary  to  heighten  its  effect ; 
for  Sam,  like  some  of  our  fashionable  dilettanti,  never 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  107 

allowed  a  story  to  lose  any  of  its  gilding  by  passing 
through  his  hands.  Roars  of  laughter  attended  the 
narration,  and  were  taken  up  and  prolonged  by  all 
the  smaller  fry,  who  were  lying,  in  any  quantity, 
about  on  the  floor,  or  perched  in  every  corner.  In 
the  height  of  the  uproar  and  laughter,  Sam,  however, 
preserved  an  immovable  gravity,  only  from  time  to 
time  rolling  his  eyes  up,  and  giving  his  auditors 
divers  inexpressibly  droll  glances,  without  departing 
from  the  sententious  elevation  of  his  oratory. 

"  Yer  see,  fellow-countrymen,"  said  Sam,  elevating 
a  turkey's  leg,  with  energy,  "  yer  see  now,  what  dis 
yer  chile  's  up  ter,  for  'fendin'  yer  all, — yes,  all  on 
yer.  For  him  as  tries  to  get  one  o'  our  people,  is  as 
good  as  tryin'  to  get  all ;  yer  see  the  principle  's  de 
same, — ;dat  ar  's  clar.  And  any  one  o'  these  yer 
drivers  that  comes  smelling  round  arter  any  our  peo- 
ple, why,  he  's  got  me  in  his  way ;  I  ym  the  feller  he 
's  got  to  set  in  with, — I  'm  the  feller  for  yer  all  to 
come  to,  bredren, — I  '11  stand  up  for  yer  rights, — 
I  '11  'fend  'em  to  the  last  breath  ! " 

"  Why,  but  Sam,  yer  telled  me,  only  this  mornin', 
that  you  'd  help  this  yer  Mas'r  to  cotch  'Lizy ;  seems 
to  me  yer  talk  don't  hang  together,"  said  Andy. 

"  I  tell  yer  now,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  with  awful  su- 
periority, "  don't  yer  be  a  talkin'  'bout  what  yer  don't 
know  nothin'  on  ;  boys  like  you,  Andy,  means  well, 
but  they  can't  be  spected  to  collusitate  the  great  prin- 
ciples of  action." 

Andy  looked  rebuked,  particularly  by  the  hard 
word  collusitate,  which  most  of  the  youngerly  mem- 
bers of  the  company  seemed  to  consider  as  a  settler 
in  the  case,  while  Sam  proceeded. 

"  Dat  ar  was  conscience,  Andy;  when  I  thought  of 
gwine  arter  'Lizy,  I  railly  spected  Mas'r  was  sot  dat 
9 


108  UNCLE   tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

way.  When  I  found  Missis  was  sot  the  contrar,  dat 
ar  was  conscience  more  yet, — cause  fellers  allers  gets 
more  by  stickin' to  Missis'  side, — so  yer  see  I  's  per- 
sistent either  way,  and  sticks  up  to  conscience,  and 
holds  on  to  principles.  Yes, principles"  said  Sam, 
giving  an  enthusiastic  toss  to  a  chicken's  neck, — 
li  what  's  principles  good  for,  if  we  is  n't  persistent, 
I  wanter  know  ?  Thar,  Andy,  you  may  have  dat  ar 
bone, — 't  an't  picked  quite  clean." 

Sam's  audience  hanging  on  his  words  with  open 
mouth,  he  could  not  but  proceed. 

"  Dis  yer  matter  'bout  persistence,  feller-niggers," 
said  Sam,  with  the  air  of  one  entering  into  an  ab- 
struse subject,  "dis  yer  'sistency  's  a  thing  what  an't 
seed  into  very  clar,  by  most  anybody.  Now,  yer  see, 
when  a  feller  stands  up  for  a  thing  one  day  and  night, 
de  contrar  de  next,  folks  ses  (and  nat'rally  enough 
dey  ses),  why  he  an't  persistent, — hand  me  dat  ar 
bit  o'  corn-cake,  Andy.  But  let  's  look  inter  it.  I 
hope  the  gen'lmen  and  der  fair  sex  will  scuse  my 
usin'  an  or'nary  sort  o'  'parison.  Here  !  I  'm  a  tryin' 
to  get  top  o'  der  hay.  Wal,  I  puts  up  my  larder  dis 
yer  side  ;  't  an't  no  go ; — den,  cause  I  don't  try  dere 
no  more,  but  puts  my  larder  right  de  contrar  side, 
an't  I  persistent  ?  I  'm  persistent  in  wantin'  to  get 
up  which  ary  side  my  larder  is  ;  don't  you  see,  all 
on  yer  ? " 

"  It  's  the  only  thing  ye  ever  was  persistent  in, 
Lord  knows  !  "  muttered  Aunt  Chloe,  who  was  get- 
ting rather  restive ;  the  merriment  of  the  evening 
being  to  her  somewhat  after  the  Scripture  compari- 
son,— like  "  vinegar  upon  nitre." 

"Yes,  indeed!  "  said  Sam,  rising,  full  of  supper 
and  glory,  for  a  closing  effort.  "  Yes,  my  feller-citi- 
zens and  ladies  of  de  other  sex  in  general,  I   has 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  IO9 

principles, — I  'm  proud  to  'oon  'em, — they  's  per- 
quisite to  dese  yer  times,  and  ter  all  times.  I  has 
principles,  and  I  sticks  to  'em  like  forty, — jest  any- 
thing that  I  thinks  is  principle,  I  goes  in  to  't ; — I 
would  n't  mind  if  dey  burnt  me  'live, — I  'd  walk 
right  up  to  de  stake,  I  would,  and  say,  here  I  comes 
I  to  shed  my  last  blood  fur  my  principles,  fur  my  coun- 
try, fur  der  gen'l  interests  of  s'ciety." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "  one  o'  yer  principles 
will  have  to  be  to  get  to  bed  some  time  to-night,  and 
not  be  a  keepin'  everybody  up  till  mornin' ;  now, 
every  one  of  you  young  uns  that  don't  want  to  be 
cracked,  had  better  be  scase,  mighty  sudden." 

"  Niggers  !  all  on  yer,"  said  Sam,  waving  his  palm- 
leaf  with  benignity,  "  I  give  yer  my  blessin' ;  go  to 
bed  now,  and  be  good  boys." 

And,  with  this  pathetic  benediction,  the  assembly 
dispersed. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  WHICH  IT  APPEARS  THAT  A  SENATOR  IS  BUT  A  MAN. 

The  light  of  the  cheerful  fire  shone  on  the  rug  and 
carpet  of  a  cosy  parlor,  and  glittered  on  the  sides 
of  the  tea-cups  and  well-brightened  tea-pot,  as  Sen- 
ator Bird  was  drawing  off  his  boots,  preparatory  to 
inserting  his  feet  in  a  pair  of  new  handsome  slippers, 
which  his  wife  had  been  working  for  him  while  away 
on  his  senatorial  tour.  Mrs.  Bird,  looking  the  very 
picture  of  delight,  was  superintending  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  table,  ever  and  anon  mingling  admoni- 
tory remarks  to  a  number  of  frolicsome  juveniles, 
who  were  effervescing  in  all  those  modes  of  untold 
gambol  and  mischief  that  have  astonished  mothers 
ever  since  the  flood. 


IIO  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

"Tom,  let  the  door-knob  alone, — there's  a  man  ! 
Mary  !  Mary  !  don't  pull  the  cat's  tail, — poor  pussy  ! 
Jim,  you  must  n't  climb  on  that  table, — no,  no  ! — 
You  don't  know,  my  dear,  what  a  surprise  it  is  to  us 
all,  to  see  you  here  to-night !  "  said  she,  at  last, 
when  she  found  a  space  to  say  something  to  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  thought  I  'd  just  make  a  run  down, 
spend  the  night,  and  have  a  little  comfort  at  home. 
I  'm  tired  to  death,  and  my  head  aches  ! " 

Mrs.  Bird  cast  a  glance  at  a  camphor-bottle,  which 
stood  in  the  half-open  closet,  and  appeared  to  medi- 
tate an  approach  to  it,  but  her  husband  inter- 
posed. 

"  No,  no,  Mary,  no  doctoring !  a  cup  of  your  good 
hot  tea,  and  some  of  our  good  home  living,  is  what 
I  want.     It  's  a  tiresome  business,  this  legislating  !  " 

And  the  senator  smiled,  as  if  he  rather  liked  the 
idea  of  considering  himself  a  sacrifice  to  his  coun- 

"  Well,"  said  his  wife,  after  the  business  of  the 
tea-table  was  getting  rather  slack,  "  and  what  have 
they  been  doing  in  the  Senate  ?  " 

Now,  it  was  a  very  unusual  thing  for  gentle  little 
Mrs.  Bird  ever  to  trouble  her  head  with  what  was 
going  on  in  the  house  of  the  state,  very  wisely  con- 
sidering that  she  had  enough  to  do  to  mind  her  own. 
Mr.  Bird,  therefore,  opened  his  eyes  in  surprise,  and 
said, 

"  Not  very  much  of  importance." 
-  "  Well ;  but  is  it  true  that  they  have  been  passing 
a  law  forbidding  people  to  give  meat  and  drink  to 
those  poor  colored  folks  that  come  along  ?  I  heard 
they  were  talking  of  some  such  law,  but  I  did  n't 
think  any  Christian  legislature  would  pass  it !  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  Ill 

"  Why,  Mary,  you  are  getting  to  be  a  politician, 
all  at  once." 

"  No,  nonsense !  I  would  n't  give  a  fip  for  all 
your  politics,  generally,  but  I  think  this  is  something 
downright  cruel  and  unchristian.  I  hope,  my  dear, 
no  such  law  has  been  passed." 

"  There  has  been  a  law  passed  forbidding  people 
to  help  off  the  slaves  that  come  over  from  Kentucky, 
my  dear  ;  so  much  of  that  thing  has  been  done  by 
these  reckless  Abolitionists,  that  our  brethren  in 
Kentucky  are  very  strongly  excited,  and  it  seems 
necessary,  and  no  more  than  Christian  and  kind, 
that  something  should  be  done  by  our  state  to  quiet 
the  excitement." 

"  And  what  is  the  law?  It  don't  forbid  us  to 
shelter  these  poor  creatures  a  night,  does  it,  and  to 
give  'em  something  comfortable  to  eat,  and  a  few 
old  clothes,  and  send  them  quietly  about  their  busi- 
ness ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  my  dear ;  that  would  be  aiding  and 
abetting,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Bird  was  a  timid,  blushing  little  woman,  of 
about  four  feet  in  height,  and  with  mild  blue  eyes, 
and  a  peach-blow  complexion,  and  the  gentlest, 
sweetest  voice  in  the  world ;  as  for  courage,  a 
moderate-sized  cock-turkey  had  been  known  to  put 
her  to  rout  at  the  very  first  gobble,  and  a  stout 
house-dog,  of  moderate  capacity,  would  bring  her 
into  subjection  merely  by  a  show  of  his  teeth.  Her 
husband  and  children  were  her  entire  world,  and  in 
these  she  ruled  more  by  entreaty  and  persuasion 
than  by  command  or  argument.  There  was  only 
one  thing  that  was  capable  of  arousing  her,  and  that 
provocation  came  in  on  the  side  of  her  unusually 
gentle    and    sympathetic  nature  ; — anything  in  the 


112  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

shape  of  cruelty  would  throw  her  into  a  passion, 
which  was  the  more  alarming  and  inexplicable  in 
proportion  to  the  general  softness  of  her  nature. 
Generally  the  most  indulgent  and  easy  to  be  en- 
treated of  all  mothers,  still  her  boys  had  a  very  rev- 
erent remembrance  of  a  most  vehement  chastise- 
ment she  once  bestowed  on  them,  because  she  found 
them  leagued  with  several  graceless  boys  of  the 
neighborhood,  stoning  a  defenceless  kitten. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  Master  Bill  used  to  say,  "  I 
was  scared  that  time.  Mother  came  at  me  so  that 
I  thought  she  was  crazy,  and  I  was  whipped  and 
tumbled  off  to  bed,  without  any  supper,  before  I 
could  get  over  wondering  what  had  come  about ;  and, 
after  that,  I  heard  mother  crying  outside  the  door, 
which  made  me  feel  worse  than  all  the  rest.  I  '11 
tell  you  what,"  he  'd  say,  "  we  boys  never  stoned 
another  kitten !  " 

On  the  present  occasion,  Mrs.  Bird  rose  quickly, 
with  very  red  cheeks,  which  quite  improved  her 
general  appearance,  and  walked  up  to  her  husband, 
with  quite  a  resolute  air,  and  said,  in  a  determined 
tone, 

"  Now,  John,  I  want  to  know  if  you  think  such  a 
a  law  as  that  is  right  and  Christian  ?  " 

"  You  won't  shoot  me,  now,  Mary,  if  I  say  I 
do  !  " 

"  I  never  could  have  thought  it  of  you,  John  ;  you 
didn't  vote  for  it?" 

"  Even  so,  my  fair  politician." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  John  !  Poor,  home- 
less, houseless  creatures  !  It 's  a  shameful,  wicked, 
abominable  law,  and  I  '11  break  it,  for  one,  the  first 
time  I  get  a  chance  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  have  a 
chance,  I  do  !     Things  have  got  to  a  pretty  pass,  if 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  II3 

a  woman  can't  give  a  warm  supper  and  a  bed  to 
poor,  starving  creatures,  just  because  they  are  slaves, 
and  have  been  abused  and  oppressed  all  their  lives, 
poor  things  !  " 

"  But,  Mary,  just  listen  to  me.  Your  feelings  are 
all  quite  right,  dear,  and  interesting,  and  I  love  you 
for  them ;  but,  then,  dear,  we  must  n't  suffer  our 
feelings  to  run  away  with  our  judgment ;  you  must 
consider  it 's  not  a  matter  of  private  feeling, — there 
are  great  public  interests  involved, — there  is  such  a 
state  of  public  agitation  rising,  that  we  must  put 
aside  our  private  feelings." 

"  Now,  John,  I  don't  know  anything  about  politics, 
but  I  can  read  my  Bible  ;  and  there  I  see  that  I 
must  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked,  and  comfort 
the  desolate ;  and  that  Bible  I  mean  to  follow." 

"  But  in  cases  where  your  doing  so  would  involve 
a  great  public  evil — " 

"  Obeying  God  never  brings  on  public  evils.  I 
know  it  can't.  It 's  always  safest,  all  round,  to  do 
as  He  bids  us." 

"  Now,  listen  to  me,  Mary,  and  I  can  state  to  you 
a  very  clear  argument,  to  show — " 

"  O,  nonsense,  John  !  you  can  talk  all  night,  but 
you  would  n't  do  it.  I  put  it  to  you,  John, — would  you 
now  turn  away  a  poor,  shivering,  hungry  creature 
from  your  door,  because  he  was  a  runaway  ?  Would 
you,  now  ?  " 

Now,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  our  senator  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  a  man  who  had  a  particularly 
humane  and  accessible  nature,  and  turning  away 
anybody  that  was  in  trouble  never  had  been  his 
forte  ;  and  what  was  worse  for  him  in  this  particular 
pinch  of  the  argument  was,  that  his  wife  knew  it, 
and,  of  course,  was  making  an  assault  on   rather  an 


114  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

indefensible  point.  So  he  had  recourse  to  the  usual 
means  of  gaining  time  for  such  cases  made  and  pro- 
vided ;  he  said  "  ahem,"  and  coughed  several  times, 
took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  began  to 
wipe  his  glasses.  Mrs.  Bird,  seeing  the  defenceless 
condition  of  the  enemy's  territory,  had  no  more 
conscience  than  to  push  her  advantage. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  doing  that,  John — I 
really  should  !  Turning  a  woman  out  of  doors  in  a 
snow-storm,  for  instance ;  or,  may  be  you  'd  take 
her  up  and  put  her  in  jail,  would  n't  you  ?  You 
would  make  a  great  hand  at  that !  '•' 

"  Of  course,  it  would  be  a  very  painful  duty," 
began  Mr.  Bird,  in  a  moderate  tone. 

"  Duty,  John  !  don't  use  that  word  !  You  know 
it  is  n  't  a  duty — it  can't  be  a  duty  !  If  folks  want 
to  keep  their  slaves  from  running  away,  let  'em  treat 
'em  well, — that 's  my  doctrine.  If  I  had  slaves  (as  I 
hope  I  never  shall  have),  I  'd  risk  their  wanting  to  run 
away  from  me,  or  you  either,  John.  I  tell  you  folks 
don't  run  away  when  they  are  happy  :  and  when 
they  do  run,  poor  creatures  !  they  suffer  enough 
with  cold  and  hunger  and  fear,  without  everybody's 
turning  against  them  ;  and,  law  or  no  law,  I  never 
will,  so  help  me  God  !  " 

"  Mary !  Mary  !    My  dear,  let  me  reason  with  you." 

"  I  hate  reasoning,  John, — especially  reasoning  on 
such  subjects.  There's  a  way  you  political  folks 
have  of  coming  round  and  round  a  plain  right  thing  ; 
and  you  don't  believe  in  it  yourselves,  when  it  comes 
to  practice.  I  know  you  well  enough,  John.  You 
don't  believe  it 's  right  any  more  than  I  do  ;  and 
you  would  n't  do  it  any  sooner  than  I." 

At  this  critical  juncture,  old  Cudjoe,  the  black 
man-of-all-work,  put   his   head  in    at  the    door,  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  115 

wished  "  Missis  would  come  into  the  kitchen  ;  "  and 
our  senator,  tolerably  relieved,  looked  after  his  little 
wife  with  a  whimsical  mixture  of  amusement  and 
vexation,  and,  seating  himself  in  the  arm-chair,  be- 
gan to  read  the  papers. 

After  a  moment,  his  wife's  voice  was  heard  at 
the  door,  in  a  quick,  earnest  tone, — "  John  !  John  ! 
I  do  wish  you  'd  come  here,  a  moment." 

He  laid  down  his  paper,  and  went  into  the  kitchen, 
and  started,  quite  amazed  at  the  sight  that  presented 
itself  : — A  young  and  slender  woman,  with  garments 
torn  and  frozen,  with  one  shoe  gone,  and  the  stock- 
ing torn  away  from  the  cut  and  bleeding  foot,  was 
laid  back  in  a  deadly  swoon  upon  two  chairs.  There 
was  the  impress  of  the  despised  race  on  her  face,  yet 
none  could  help  feeling  its  mournful  and  pathetic 
beauty,  while  its  stony  sharpness,  its  cold,  fixed, 
deathly  aspect,  struck  a  solemn  chill  over  him.  He 
drew  his  breath  short,  and  stood  in  silence.  His  wife, 
and  their  only  colored  domestic,  old  Aunt  Dinah, were 
busily  engaged  in  restorative  measures  ;  while  old 
Cudjoe  had  got  the  boy  on  his  knee,  and  was  busy 
pulling  off  his  shoes  and  stockings,  and  chafing  his 
little  cold  feet. 

"  Sure,  now,  if  she  an't  a  sight  to  behold!  "  said 
old  Dinah,  compassionately  ;  "  'pears  like  't  was  the 
heat  that  made  her  faint.  She  was  tol'able  peart 
when  she  cum  in,  and  asked  if  she  could  n't  warm 
herself  here  a  spell ;  and  I  was  just  a  askin'  her 
where  she  cum  from,  and  she  fainted  right  down. 
Never  done  much  hard  work,  guess,  by  the  looks  of 
her  hands." 

"Poor  creature!"  said  Mrs.  Bird,  compassion- 
ately, as  the  woman  slowly  unclosed  her  large,  dark 
eyes,  and  looked  vacantly  at  her.     Suddenly  an  ex- 


Il6  uncle  tom's  cabin:  or, 

pression  of  agony  crossed  her  face,  and  she  sprang 
up,  saying,  "  O,  my  Harry  !     Have  they  got  him  ?  " 

The  boy,  at  this,  jumped  from  Cudjoe's  knee, 
and,  running  to  her  side,  put  up  his  arms.  "  O  he  's 
here !  he  's  here  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  O,  ma'am  !  "  said  she,  wildly,  to  Mrs.  Bird,  "  do 
protect  us  !  don't  let  them  get  him  !  " 

"  Nobody  shall  hurt  you  here,  poor  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Bird,  encouragingly.  "  You  are  safe ;  don't 
be  afraid." 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  said  the  woman,  covering  her 
face  and  sobbing ;  while  the  little  boy,  seeing  her 
crying,  tried  to  get  into  her  lap. 

With  many  gentle  and  womanly  offices,  which 
none  knew  better  how  to  render  than  Mrs.  Bird, 
the  poor  woman  was,  in  time,  rendered  more  calm. 
A  temporary  bed  was  provided  for  her  on  the  settle, 
near  the  fire  ;  and,  after  a  short  time,  she  fell  into 
a  heavy  slumber,  with  the  child,  who  seemed  no 
less  weary,  soundly  sleeping  on  her  arm  ;  for  the 
mother  resisted,  with  nervous  anxiety,  the  kindest 
attempts  to  take  him  from  her  ;  and,  even  in  sleep, 
her  arm  encircled  him  with  an  unrelaxing  clasp,  as 
if  she  could  not  even  then  be  beguiled  of  her 
vigilant  hold. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  had  gone  back  to  the  parlor, 
where,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  no  reference  was 
made,  on  either  side,  to  the  preceding  conversation  ; 
but  Mrs.  Bird  busied  herself  with  her  knitting-work, 
and  Mr.  Bird  pretended  to  be  reading  the  paper. 

"  I  wonder  who  and  what  she  is  !  "  said  Mr.  Bird, 
at  last,  as  he  laid  it  down. 

"  When  she  wakes  up  and  feels  a  little  rested,  we 
will  see,"  said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  I  say,  wife  !  "  said  Mr.  Bird,  after  musing  in 
silence  over  his  newspaper. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  117 

"  Well,  dear  !  " 

"  She  could  n't  wear  one  of  your  gowns,  could 
she,  by  any  letting  down,  or  such  matter  ?  She 
seems  to  be  rather  larger  than  you  are." 

A  quite  perceptible  smile  glimmered  on  Mrs. 
Bird's  face,  as  she  answered,  "  We  '11  see." 

Another  pause,  and  Mr.  Bird  again  broke  out, 

"  I  say,  wife  !  " 

"  Well !     What  now  ?  " 

"  WThy,  there  's  that  old  bombazine  cloak,  that  you 
keep  on  purpose  to  put  over  me  when  I  take  my 
afternoon's  nap  ;  you  might  as  well  give  her  that, — 
she  needs  clothes." 

At  this  instant,  Dinah  looked  in  to  say  that  the 
woman  was  awake,  and  wanted  to  see  Missis. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  went  into  the  kitchen,  followed 
by  the  two  eldest  boys,  the  smaller  fry  having,  by 
this  time,  been  safely  disposed  of  in  bed. 

The  woman  was  now  sitting  up  on  the  settle,  by 
the  fire.  She  was  looking  steadily  into  the  blaze, 
with  a  calm,  heart-broken  expression,  very  different 
from  her  former  agitated  wildness. 

"  Did  you  want  me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Bird,  in  gentle 
tones.     "  I  hope  you  feel  better  now,  poor  woman  !  " 

A  long-drawn,  shivering  sigh  was  the  only  answer ; 
but  she  lifted  her  dark  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  her 
with  such  a  forlorn  and  imploring  expression,  that 
the  tears  came  into  the  little  woman's  eyes. 

"  You  need  n't  be  afraid  of  anything ;  we  are 
friends  here,  poor  woman  !  Tell  me  where  you 
came  from,  and  what  you  want,"  said  she. 

"  I  came  from  Kentucky,"  said  the  woman. 

"  When  ? "  said  Mr.  Bird,  taking  up  the  inter- 
rogatory. 

"  To-night." 


Il8  uncle  tom's  cabin:  or, 

"  How  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  crossed  on  the  ice." 

"  Crossed  on  the  ice  !  "  said  every  one  present. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  slowly,  "  I  did.  God 
helping  me,  I  crossed  on  the  ice  ;  for  they  were 
behind  me — right  behind — and  there  was  no  other 
way  !  " 

"  Law,  Missis,"  said  Cudjoe,  "  the  ice  is  all  in 
broken-up  blocks,  a  swinging  and  a  tetering  up  and 
down  in  the  water  !  " 

"  I  know  it  was— I  know  it !  "  said  she,  wildly  ; 
"  but  I  did  it !  I  would  n't  have  thought  I  could, — 
I  did  n't  think  I  should  get  over,  but  I  did  n't  care  ! 
I  could  but  die,  if  I  did  n't.  The  Lord  helped  me ; 
nobody  knows  how  much  the  Lord  can  help  'em, 
till  they  try,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  flashing  eye. 

"  Were  you  a  slave  ? "  said  Mr.  Bird. 

"Yes,  sir  ;  I  belonged  to  a  man  in  Kentucky." 

"  Was  he  unkind  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  he  was  a  good  master." 

"  And  was  your  mistress  unkind  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ; — no  !  my  mistress  was  always  good  to 
me." 

"  What  could  induce  you  to  leave  a  good  home, 
then,  and  run  away,  and  go  through  such  dangers  ?  " 

The  woman  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Bird  with  a  keen, 
scrutinizing  glance,  and  it  did  not  escape  her  that 
she  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 

"  Ma'am,"  she  said,  sudden!)',  "  have  you  ever 
lost  a  child  ?  " 

The  question  was  unexpected,  and  it  was  a  thrust 
on  a  new  wound  ;  for  it  was  only  a  month  since  a 
darling  child  of  the  family  had  been  laid  in  the 
grave. 

Mr.  Bird  turned  around  and  walked  to  the  win- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  II9 

dow,  and  Mrs.  Bird  burst  into  tears ;  but,  recover- 
ing her  voice,  she  said, 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?     I  have  lost  a  little  one." 

"  Then  you  will  feel  for  me.  I  have  lost  two,  one 
after  another, — left  'em  buried  there  when  I  came 
away  ;  and  I  had  only  this  one  left.  I  never  slept 
a  night  without  him  ;  he  was  all  I  had.  He  was 
my  comfort  and  pride,  day  and  night ;  and,  ma'am, 
they  were  going  to  take  him  away  from  me, — to  sell 
him, — sell  him  down  south,  ma'am,  to  go  all  alone, 
— a  baby  that  had  never. been  away  from  his  mother 
in  his  life  !  I  could  n't  stand  it,  ma'am.  I  knew  I 
never  should  be  good  for  anything,  if  they  did ;  and 
when  I  knew  the  papers  were  signed,  and  he  was 
sold,  I  took  him  and  came  off  in  the  night;  and 
they  chased  me,— the  man  that  bought  him,  and 
some  of  Mas'r's  folks, — and  they  were  coming  down 
right  behind  me,  and  I  heard  'em.  I  jumped  right 
on  to  the  ice  ;  and  how  I  got  across,  I  don't  know, 
— but,  first  I  knew,  a  man  was  helping  me  up  the 
bank." 

The  woman  did  not  sob  nor  weep.  She  had  gone 
to  a  place  where  tears  are  dry  ;  but  every  one  around 
her  was,  in  some  way  characteristic  of  themselves, 
showing  signs  of  hearty  sympathy. 

The  two  little  boys,  after  a  desperate  rummaging 
in  their  pockets,  in  search  of  those  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs which  mothers  know  are  never  to  be  found 
there,  had  thrown  themselves  disconsolately  into  the 
skirts  of  their  mother's  gown,  where  they  were  sob- 
bing, and  wiping  their  eyes  and  noses,  to  their  hearts' 
content ; — Mrs.  Bird  had  her  face  fairly  hidden  in 
her  pocket-handkerchief  ;  and  old  Dinah,  with  tears 
streaming  down  her  black,  honest  face,  was  ejaculat- 
ing, "  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  !  "  with  all  the  fervor 


120  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

of  a  camp-meeting  ; — while  old  Cudjoe,  rubbing  his 
eyes  very  hard  with  his  cuffs,  and  making  a  most 
uncommon  variety  of  wry  faces,  occasionally 
responded  in  the  same  key,  with  great  fervor.  Our 
senator  was  a  statesman,  and  of  course  could  not  be 
expected  to  cry,  like  other  mortals  ;  and  so  he  turned 
his  back  to  the  company,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window,  and  seemed  particularly  busy  in  clearing 
his  throat  and  wiping  his  spectacle-glasses,  occa- 
sionally blowing  his  nose  in  a  manner  that  was  cal- 
culated to  excite  suspicion,  had  any  one  been  in  a 
state  to  observe  critically. 

"  How  came  you  to  tell  me  you  had  a  kind  mas- 
ter ?  "  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  gulping  down  very 
resolutely  some  kind  of  rising  in  his  throat,  and  turn- 
ing suddenly  round  upon  the  woman. 

"  Because  he  was  a  kind  master  ;  I  '11  say  that  of 
him,  any  way ; — and  my  mistress  was  kind  ;  but 
they  could  n't  help  themselves.  They  were  owing 
money  ;  and  there  was  some  way,  I  can't  tell  how, 
that  a  man  had  a  hold  on  them,  and  they  were  ob- 
liged to  give  him  his  will.  I  listened,  and  heard 
him  telling  mistress  that,  and  she  begging  and  plead- 
ing for  me, — and  he  told  her  he  could  n't  help  him- 
self, and  that  the  papers  were  all  drawn  ; — and  then 
it  was  I  took  him  and  left  my  home,  and  came  away. 
I  knew  't  was  no  use  of  my  tr)dng  to  live,  if  they 
did  it ;  for  't  'pears  like  this  child  is  all  I  have." 

"  Have  you  no  husband  ? " 

"Yes,  but  he  belongs  to  another  man.  His 
master  is  real  hard  to  him,  and  won't  let  him  come 
to  see  me,  hardly  ever ;  and  he  's  grown  harder  and 
harder  upon  us,  and  he  threatens  to  sell  him  down 
south ; — it 's  like  I  '11  never  see  him  again  !  " 

The  quiet  tone  in  which  the  woman  pronounced 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  121 

these  words  might  have  led  a  superficial  observer  to 
think  that  she  was  entirely  apathetic  ;  but  there  was 
a  calm,  settled  depth  of  anguish  in  her  large,  dark 
eye,  that  spoke  of  something  far  otherwise. 

"  And  where  do  you  mean  to  go,  my  poor  woman  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  To  Canada,  if  I  only  knew  where  that  was.  Is 
it  very  far  off,  is  Canada  ?  "  said  she,  looking  up, 
with  a  simple,  confiding  air,  to  Mrs.  Bird's  face. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Mrs.  Bird,  involuntarily. 

"  Is 't  a  very  great  way  off,  think  ?  "  said  the 
woman,  earnestly. 

"  Much  further  than  you  think,  poor  child !  "  said 
Mrs.  Bird  ;  "  but  we  will  try  to  think  what  can  be 
done  for  you.  Here,  Dinah,  make  her  up  a  bed  in 
your  own  room,  close  by  the  kitchen,  and  I  '11  think 
what  to  do  for  her  in  the  morning.  Meanwhile, 
never  fear,  poor  woman  ;  put  your  trust  in  God  ;  he 
will  protect  you." 

Mrs.  Bird  and  her  husband  reentered  the  parlor. 
She  sat  down  in  her  little  rocking-chair  before  the 
fire,  swaying  thoughtfully  to  and  fro.  Mr.  Bird 
strode  up  and  down  the  room,  grumbling  to  himself, 
"Pish!  pshaw!  confounded  awkward  business!" 
At  length,  striding  up  to  his  wife,  he  said, 

"  I  say,  wife,  she  '11  have  to  get  away  from  here, 
this  very  night.  That  fellow  will  be  down  on  the 
scent  bright  and  early  to-morrow  morning ;  if  't  was 
only  the  woman,  she  could  lie  quiet  till  it  was  over ; 
but  that  little  chap  can't  be  kept  still  by  a  troop  of 
horse  and  foot,  I  '11  warrant  me  ;  he  '11  bring  it  all 
out,  popping  his  head  out  of  some  window  or  door. 
A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  it  would  be  for  me,  too,  to  be 
caught  with  them  both  here,  just  now!  No; 
they  '11  have  to  be  got  off  to-night." 


122  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  To-night !     How  is  it  possible  ? — where  to  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  know  pretty  well  where  to,"  said  the 
senator,  beginning  to  put  on  his  boots,  with  a 
reflective  air ;  and,  stopping  when  his  leg  was  half 
in,  he  embraced  his  knee  with  both  hands,  and 
seemed  to  go  off  in  deep  meditation. 

"  It 's  a  confounded  awkward,  ugly  business," 
said  he,  at  last,  beginning  to  tug  at  his  boot-straps 
again,  "  and  that 's  a  fact !  "  After  one  boot  was 
fairly  on,  the  senator  sat  with  the  other  in  his  hand, 
profoundly  studying  the  figure  of  the  carpet.  "  It 
will  have  to  be  done,  though,  for  aught  I  see, — hang 
it  all !  "  and  he  drew  the  other  boot  anxiously  on, 
and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

Now,  little  Mrs.  Bird  was  a  discreet  woman, — a 
woman  who  never  in  her  life  said,  "I  told  you  so  !  " 
and,  on  the  present  occasion,  though  pretty  well 
aware  of  the  shape  her  husband's  meditations  were 
taking,  she  very  prudently  forbore  to  meddle  with 
them,  only  sat  very  quietly  in  her  chair,  and  looked 
quite  ready  to  hear  her  liege  lord's  intentions,  when 
he  should  think  proper  to  utter  them. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  there  's  my  old  client,  Van 
Trompe,  has  come  over  from  Kentucky,  and  set  all 
his  slaves  free ;  and  he  has  bought  a  place  seven 
miles  up  the  creek,  here,  back  in  the  woods,  where 
nobody  goes,  unless  they  go  on  purpose  ;  and  it 's  a 
place  that  is  n't  found  in  a  hurry.  There  she  'd  be 
safe  enough ;  but  the  plague  of  the  thing  is,  nobody 
could  drive  a  carriage  there  to-night,  but  me." 

"  Why  not  ?     Cudjoe  is  an  excellent  driver." 

"  Ay,  ay,  but  here  it  is.  The  creek  has  to  be 
crossed  twice ;  and  the  second  crossing  is  quite  dan- 
gerous, unless  one  knows  it  as  I  do.  I  have  crossed 
it  a  hundred  times  on  horseback,  and  know  exactly 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 23 

the  turns  to  take.  And  so,  you  see,  there 's  no  help 
for  it.  Cudjoe  must  put  in  the  horses,  as  quietly  as 
may  be,  abou  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  '11  take  her  over ; 
and  then,  to  give  color  to  the  matter,  he  must  carry 
me  on  to  the  next  tavern,  to  take  the  stage  for 
Columbus,  that  comes  by  about  three  or  four,  and 
so  it  will  look  as  if  I  had  had  the  carriage  only  for 
that.  I  shall  get  into  business  bright  and  early  in 
the  morning.  But  I  'm  thinking  I  shall  feel  rather 
cheap  there,  after  all  that 's  been  said  and  done ;  but, 
hang  it,  I  can't  help  it  ?  " 

"  Your  heart  is  better  than  your  head,  in  this 
case,  John,"  said  the  wife,  laying  her  little  white 
hand  on  his.  **  Could  I  ever  have  loved  you,  had  I 
not  known  you  better  than  you  know  yourself  ? " 
And  the  little  woman  looked  so  handsome,  with  the 
tears  sparkling  in  her  eyes,  that  the  senator  thought 
he  must  be  a  decidedly  clever  fellow,  to  get  such  a 
pretty  creature  into  such  a  passionate  admiration  of 
him  ;  and  so,  what  could  he  do  but  walk  off  soberly, 
to  see  about  the  carriage.  At  the  door,  however, 
he  stopped  a  moment,  and  then  coming  back,  he 
said,  with  some  hesitation, 

"  Mary,  I  don't  know  how  you  'd  feel  about  it, 
but  there 's  that  drawer  full  of  things — -of — of — poor 
little  Henry's."  So  saying,  he  turned  quickly  on 
his  heel,  and  shut  the  dcor  after  him. 

His  wife  opened  the  little  bedroom  door  adjoin- 
ing her  room,  and,  taking  the  candle,  set  it  down  on 
the  top  of  a  bureau  there  ;  then  from  a  small  recess 
she  took  a  key,  and  put  it  thoughtfully  in  the  lock 
of  a  drawer,  and  made  a  sudden  pause,  while  two 
boys,  who,  boy  like,  had  followed  close  on  her  heels, 
stood  looking,  with  silent,  significant  glances,  at 
their  mother.  And  oh  !  mother  that  reads  this,  has 
10 


124  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

there  never  been  in  your  house  a  drawer,  or  a  closetr 
the  opening  of  which  has  been  to  you  like  the  open- 
ing again  of  a  little  grave  ?  Ah  !  happy  mother 
that  you  are,  if  it  has  not  been  so. 

Mrs.  Bird  slowly  opened  the  drawer.  There  were 
little  coats  of  many  a  form  and  pattern,  piles  of 
aprons,  and  rows  of  small  stockings ;  and  even  a 
pair  of  little  shoes,  worn  and  rubbed  at  the  toes, 
were  peeping  from  the  folds  of  a  paper.  There  was 
a  toy  horse  and  wagon,  a  top,  a  ball, — memorials 
gathered  with  many  a  tear  and  many  a  heart-break  1 
She  sat  down  by  the  drawer,  and,  leaning  her  head 
on  her  hands  over  it,  wept  till  the  tears  fell  through 
her  fingers  into  the  drawer  j  then  suddenly  raising 
her  head,  she  began,  with  nervous  haste,  select- 
ing the  plainest  and  most  substantial  articles,  and 
gathering  them  into  a  bundle. 

"  Mamma,"  said  one  of  the  boys,  gently  touch- 
ing her  arm,  "  are  you  going  to  give  away  those 
things  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boys,"  she  said,  softly  and  earnestly, 
"  if  our  dear,  loving  little  Henry  looks  down  from 
heaven,  he  would  be  glad  to  have  us  do  this.  I 
could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  give  them  away  to 
any  common  person — to  anybody  that  was  happy ; 
but  I  give  them  to  a  mother  more  heart-broken  and 
sorrowful  than  I  am  ;  and  I  hope  God  will  send  his 
blessings  with  them  !  " 

There  are  in  this  world  blessed  souls,  whose  sor- 
rows all  spring  up  into  joys  for  othejs  ;  whose 
earthly  hopes,  laid  in  the  grave  with  many  tears, 
are  the  seed  from  which  spring  healing  flowers  and 
balm  for  the  desolate  and  the  distressed.  Among 
such  was  the  delicate  woman  who  sits  there  by  the 
lamp,  dropping  slow  tears,  while  she  prepares  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  125 

memorials  of  her  own  lost  one  for  the  outcast 
wanderer. 

After  a  while,  Mrs.  Bird  opened  a  wardrobe,  and, 
taking  from  thence  a  plain,  serviceable  dress  or  two, 
she  sat  down  busily  to  her  work-table,  and,  with 
needle,  scissors,  and  thimble  at  hand,  quietly  com- 
menced the  "  letting  down  "  process  which  her  hus- 
band had  recommended,  and  continued  busily  at  it 
till  the  old  clock  in  the  corner  struck  twelve,  and 
she  heard  the  low  rattling  of  wheels  at  the  door. 

"  Mary,"  said  her  husband,  coming  in,  with  his 
overcoat  in  his  hand,  "  you  must  wake  her  up  now; 
we  must  be  off." 

Mrs.  Bird  hastily  deposited  the  various  articles 
she  had  collected  in  a  small  plain  trunk,  and  lock- 
ing it,  desired  her  husband  to  see  it  in  the  carriage, 
and  then  proceeded  to  call  the  woman.  Soon, 
arrayed  in  a  cloak,  bonnet,  and  shawl,  that  had  be- 
longed to  her  benefactress,  she  appeared  at  the  door 
with  her  child  in  her  arms.  Mr.  Bird  hurried  her 
into  the  carriage,  and  Mrs.  Bird  pressed  on  after  her 
to  the  carriage  steps.  Eliza  leaned  out  of  the  car- 
riage, and  put  out  her  hand, — a  hand  as  soft  and 
beautiful  as  was  given  in  return.  She  fixed  her 
large,  dark  eyes,  full  of  earnest  meaning,  on  Mrs. 
Bird's  face,  and  seemed  going  to  speak.  Her  lips 
moved, — she  tried  once  or  twice,  but  there  was  no- 
sound, — and  pointing  upward,  with  a  look  never  to 
be  forgotten,  she  fell  back  in  the  seat,  and  covered  her 
face.    The  door  was  shut,  and  the  carriage  drove  on. 

What  a  situation,  now,  for  a  patriotic  senator, 
that  had  been  all  the  week  before  spurring  up  the 
legislature  of  his  native  state  to  pass  more  stringent 
resolutions  against  escaping  fugitives,  their  har- 
borers  and  abettors  ! 


126  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

Our  good  senator  in  his  native  state  had  not 
been  exceeded  by  any  of  his  brethren  at  Washing- 
ton, in  the  sort  of  eloquence  which  has  won  for 
them  immortal  renown  !  How  sublimely  he  had 
sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  scouted  all 
sentimental  weakness  of  those  who  would  put  the 
welfare  of  a  few  miserable  fugitives  before  great 
state  interests ! 

He  was  as  bold  as  a  lion  about  it,  and  ■"  mightily 
•convinced "  not  only  himself,  but  everybody  that 
heard  him ; — but  then  his  idea  of  a  fugitive  was 
only  an  idea  of  the  letters  that  spell  the  word, — or, 
at  the  most,  the  image  of  a  little  newspaper  picture 
of  a  man  with  a  stick  and  bundle,  with  "  Ran  away 
from  the  subscriber  "  under  it.  The  magic  of  the 
Teal  presence  of  distress, — the  imploring  human  eye, 
the  frail,  trembling  human  hand,  the  despairing 
appeal  of  helpless  agony, — these  he  had  never  tried. 
He  had  never  thought  that  a  fugitive  might  be  a 
hapless  mother,  a  defenceless  child, — like  that  one 
•which  was  now  wearing  his  lost  boy's  little  well- 
"known  cap ;  and  so,  as  our  poor  senator  was  not 
stone  or  steel, — as  he  was  a  man,  and  a  downright 
noble-hearted  one,  too, — he  was,  as  everybody  must 
see,  in  a  sad  case  for  his  patriotism.  And  you  need 
not  exult  over  him,  good  brother  of  the  Southern 
States ;  for  we  have  some  inklings  that  many  of  you, 
under  similar  circumstances,  would  not  do  much 
better.  We  have  reason  to  know,  in  Kentucky,  as 
in  Mississippi,  are  noble  and  generous  hearts,  to 
•whom  never  was  tale  of  suffering  told  in  vain. 
Ah,  good  brother  !  is  it  fair  for  you  to  expect  of  us 
services  which  your  own  brave,  honorable  heart 
"would  not  allow  you  to  render,  were  you  in  our 
place  ? 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 27 

Be  that  as  it  may,  if  our  good  senator  was  a  polit- 
ical sinner,  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  expiate  it  by  his 
night's  penance.  There  had  been  a  long  continuous 
period  of  rainy  weather,  and  the  soft,  rich  earth  of 
Ohio,  as  every  one  knows,  is  admirably  suited  to 
the  manufacture  of  mud, — and  the  road  was  an 
Ohio  railroad  of  the  good  old  times. 

"  And  pray,  what  sort  of  a  road  may  that  be  ? " 
says  some  eastern  traveller,  who  has  been  ac- 
customed to  connect  no  ideas  with  a  railroad,  but 
those  of  smoothness  or  speed. 

Know,  then,  innocent  eastern  friend,  that  in  be- 
nighted regions  of  the  west,  where  the  mud  is  of 
unfathomable  and  sublime  depth,  roads  are  made 
of  round  rough  logs,  arranged  transversely  side  by 
side,  and  coated  over  in  their  pristine  freshness  with 
earth,  turf,  and  whatsoever  may  come  to  hand,  and 
then  the  rejoicing  native  calleth  it  a  road,  and 
straightway  essayeth  to  ride  thereupon.  In  process 
of  time,  the  rains  w?ash  off  all  the  turf  and  grass 
aforesaid,  move  the  logs  hither  and  thither,  in  pict- 
uresque positions,  up,  down  and  crosswise,  with 
divers  chasms  and  ruts  of  black  mud  intervening. 

Over  such  a  road  as  this  our  senator  went  stum- 
bling along,  making  moral  reflections  as  continuously 
as  under  the  circumstances  could  be  expected, — the 
carriage  proceeding  along  much  as  follows, — bump  ! 
bump !  bump !  slush  !  down  in  the  mud ! — the 
senator,  woman  and  child,  reversing  their  positions 
so  suddenly  as  to  come,  without  any  very  accurate 
adjustment,  against  the  windows  of  the  down-hill 
side.  Carriage  sticks  fast,  while  Cudjoe  on  the  out- 
side is  heard  making  a  great  muster  among  the 
horses.  After  various  ineffectual  pullings  and  twitch- 
ings,  just  as  the  senator  is  losing  all   patience,  the 


128  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  i    OR, 

carriage  suddenly  rights  itself  with  a  bounce, — two 
front  wheels  go  down  into  another  abyss,  ancj. 
senator,  woman,  and  child,  all  tumble  promiscuously 
on  to  the  front  seat, — senator's  hat  is  jammed  over 
his  eyes  and  nose  quite  unceremoniously,  and  he  con- 
siders himself  fairly  extinguished  ; — child  cries,  and 
Cudjoe  on  the  outside  delivers  animated  addresses 
to  the  horses,  who  are  kicking,  and  floundering,  and 
straining,  under  repeated  cracks  of  the  whip.  Car- 
riage springs  up,  with  another  bounce, — down  go  the 
hind  wheels, — senator,  woman,  and  child,  fly  over  on 
to  the  back  seat,  his  elbows  encountering  her  bon- 
net, and  both  her  feet  being  jammed  into  his  hat, 
which  flies  off  in  the  concussion.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments the  "  slough  "  is  passed,  and  the  horses  stop, 
panting ; — the  senator  finds  his  hat,  the  woman 
straightens  her  bonnet  and  hushes  her  child,  and 
they  brace  themselves  firmly,  for  what  is  yet  to 
come. 

For  a  while  only  the  continuous  bump  !  bump! 
intermingled,  just  byway  of  variety,  with  divers  side 
plunges  and  compound  shakes  ;  and  they  begin  to 
flatter  themselves  that  they  are  not  so  badly  off, 
after  all.  At  last,  with  a  square  plunge,  which  puts 
all  on  to  their  feet  and  then  down  into  their  seats 
with  incredible  quickness,  the  carriage  stops, — and, 
after  much  outside  commotion,  Cudjoe  appears  at 
the  door. 

"  Please,'  sir,  it 's  powerful  bad  spot,  this  yer.  I 
don  't  know  ho  w  we 's  to  get  clar  out.  I  'm  a  thinkin' 
we  '11  have  to  be  a  gettin'  rails." 

The  senator  despairingly  steps  out,  picking  gin- 
gerly for  some  firm  foothold  I  down  goes  one  foot 
an  immeasurable  depth,— he  tries  to  pull  it  up,  loses 
his  balance,  and  tumbles  over  into   the  mud,  and  is 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  1 29 

fished  out,  in  a  very  desparing  condition,  by  Cud- 
joe. 

But  we  forbear,  out  of  sympathy  to  our  readers' 
bones.  Western  travellers,  who  have  beguiled  the 
midnight  hour  in  the  interesting  process  of  pulling 
down  rail  fences,  to  pry  their  carriages  out  of  mud- 
holes,  will  have  a  respectful  and  mournful  sympathy 
with  our  unfortunate  hero.  We  beg  them  to  drop 
a  silent  tear,  and  pass  on. 

It  was  full  late  in  the  night  when  the  carriage 
emerged,  dripping  and  bespattered,  out  of  the  creek, 
and  stood  at  the  door  of  a  large  farm-house. 

It  took  no  inconsiderable  perseverance  to  arouse 
the  inmates ;  but  at  last  the  respectable  proprietor 
appeared,  and  undid  the  door.  He  was  a  great,  tall, 
bristling  Orson  of  a  fellow,  full  six  feet  and  some 
inches  in  his  stockings,  and  arrayed  in  a  red  flannel 
hunting-shirt.  A  very  heavy  mat  of  sandy  hair,  in 
a  decidedly  tousled  condition,  and  a  beard  of  some 
days'  growth,  gave  the  worthy  man  an  appearance, 
to  say  the  least,  not  particularly  prepossessing.  He 
stood  for  a  few  minutes  holding  the  candle  aloft, 
and  blinking  on  our  travellers  with  a  dismal  and 
mystified  expression  that  was  truly  ludicrous.  It 
cost  some  effort  of  our  senator  to  induce  him  to 
comprehend  the  case  fully ;  and  while  he  is  doing 
his  best  at  that,  we  shall  give  him  a  little  introduc- 
tion to  our  readers. 

Honest  old  John  Van  Trompe  was  once  quite  a 
considerable  land-holder  and  slave-owner  in  the 
State  of  Kentucky.  Having  "  nothing  of  the  bear 
about  him  but  the  skin,"  and  being  gifted  by  nature 
with  a  great,  honest,  just  heart,  quite  equal  to  his 
gigantic  frame,  he  had  been  for  some  years  witness- 
ing with    repressed  uneasiness    the  -  workings    of  a 


130  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

system  equally  bad  for  oppressor  and  oppressed. 
At  last,  one  day,  John's  great  heart  had  swelled 
altogether  too  big  to  wear  his  bonds  any  longer ;  so 
he  just  took  his  pocket-book  out  of  his  desk,  and 
went  over  into  Ohio,  and  bought  a  quarter  of  a 
township  of  good,  rich  land,  made  out  free  papers 
for  all  his  people, — men,  women,  and  children- 
packed  them  up  in  wagons,  and  sent  them  off  to 
settle  down  ;  and  then  honest  John  turned  his  face 
up  the  creek,  and  sat  quietly  down  on  a  snug,  retired 
farm,  to  enjoy  his  conscience  and  his  reflections. 

"  Are  you  the  man  that  will  shelter  a  poor  woman 
and  child  from  slave-catchers  ? "  said  the  senator, 
explicitly. 

"  I  rather  think  I  am,"  said  honest  John,  with 
some  considerable  emphasis. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  senator. 

"  If  there  's  anybody  comes,"  said  the  good  man, 
stretching  his  tall,  muscular  form  upward,  "  why 
here  I  'm  ready  for  him  :  and  I  've  got  seven  sons, 
each  six  foot  high,  and  they  '11  be  ready  for  'em. 
Give  our  respects  to  'em,"  said  John  ;  "  tell  'em  it 's 
no  matter  how  soon  they  call, — make  no  kinder  dif- 
ference to  us,"  said  John,  running  his  fingers  through 
the  shock  of  hair  that  thatched  his  head,  and  burst- 
ing out  into  a  great  laugh. 

Weary,  jaded,  and  spiritless,  Eliza  dragged  her- 
self up  to  the  door,  with  her  child  lying  in  a  heavy 
sleep  on  her  arm.  The  rough  man  held  the  candle 
to  her  face,  and  uttering  a  kind  of  compassionate 
grunt,  opened  the  door  of  a  small  bedroom  adjoin- 
ing to  the  large  kitchen  where  they  were  standing, 
and  motioned  her  to  go  in.  He  took  down  a  can- 
dle, and  lighting  it,  set  it  upon  the  table,  and  then 
addressed  himself  to  Eliza. 


LIPE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  131 

"  Now,  I  say,  gal,  you  need  n't  be  a  bit  afeard,  let 
who  will  come  here.  I  'm  up  to  all  that  sort  o' 
thing,"  said  he,  pointing  to  two  or  three  goodly  rifles 
over  the  mantelpiece  ;  "  and  most  people  that  know 
me  know  that  't  wouldn't  be  healthy  to  try  to  get  any- 
body out  o'  my  house  when  I  'm  agin  it.  So  now 
you  jist  go  to  sleep  now,  as  quiet  as  if  yer  mother 
was  a  rockin'  ye,"  said  he,  as  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Why,  this  is  an  uncommon  handsome  un,"  he 
said  to  the  senator.  "  Ah,  well ;  handsome  uns  has 
the  greatest  cause  to  run,  sometimes,  if  they  has  any 
kind  o'  feelin,  such  as  decent  women  should.  I 
know  all  about  that." 

The  senator,  in  a  few  words,  briefly  explained 
Eliza's  history. 

"  O  !  ou  !  aw  !  now,  I  want  to  know  ?  "  said  the 
good  man,  pitifully  ;  "  sho  !  now  sho  !  That  's 
natur  now,  poor  crittur  !  hunted  down  now  like  a 
deer, — hunted  down,  jest  for  havin'  natural  feelin's, 
and  doin'  what  no  kind  o'  mother  could  help  a 
doin' !  I  tell  ye  what,  these  yer  things  make  me 
come  the  nighest  to  swearin',  now,  o'  most  anything," 
said  honest  John,  as  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the 
back  of  a  great,  freckled,  yellow  hand.  "  I  tell  yer 
what,  stranger,  it  was  years  and  years  before  I  'd 
jine  the  church,  'cause  the  ministers  round  in  our 
parts  used  to  preach  that  the  Bible  went  in  for  these 
ere  cuttings  up, — and  I  could  n't  be  up  to  'em  with 
their  Greek  and  Hebrew,  and  so  I  took  up  agin  'em, 
Bible  and  all.  I  never  jined  the  church  till  I  found 
a  minister  that  was  up  to  'em  all  in  Greek  and  all 
that,  and  he  said  right  the  contrary;  and  then  I 
took  right  hold,  and  jined  the  church, — I  did  now, 
fact,"  said  John,  who  had  been  all  this  time  uncork- 
ing some  very  frisky  bottled  cider,  which  at  this 
juncture  he  presented. 


132  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIW  :    V-. 

"  Ye  'd  better  jest  put  up  here,  now,  till  daylight," 
said  he,  heartily,  "  and  I  '11  call  up  the  old  woman, 
and  have  a  bed  got  ready  for  you  in  no  time." 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  senator, 
u  I  must  be  along,  to  take  the  night  stage  for 
Columbus." 

"  Ah  !  well,  then,  if  you  must,  I  '11  go  a  piece  with 
you,  and  show  you  a  cross  road  that  will  take  you 
there  better  than  the  road  you  came  on.  That  road 
's  mighty  bad." 

John  equipped  himself,  and,  with  a  lantern  in 
hand,  was  soon  seen  guiding  the  senator's  carriage 
towards  a  road  that  ran  down  in  a  hollow,  back  of 
his  dwelling.  When  they  parted,  the  senator  put 
into  his  hand  a  ten-dollar  bill. 

"  It 's  for  her,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  John,  with  equal  conciseness. 

They  shook  hands,  and  parted. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PROPERTY    IS    CARRIED    OFF. 

The  February  morning  looked  gray  and  drizzling 
through  the  window  of  Uncle  Tom's  cabin.  It 
looked  on  downcast  faces,  the  images  of  mournful 
hearts.  The  little  table  stood  out  before  the  fire, 
covered  with  an  ironing-cloth  ;  a  coarse  but  clean 
shirt  or  two,  fresh  from  the  iron,  hung  on  the  back 
of  a  chair  by  the  fire,  and  Aunt  Chloe  had  another 
spread  out  before  her  on  the  table.  Carefully  she 
rubbed  and  ironed  every  fold  and  every  hem,  with 
the  most  scrupulous  exactness,  every  now  and  then 
raising  her  hand  to  her  face  to  wipe  off  the  tears 
that  were  coursins:  down  her  cheeks. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  133 

Tom  sat  by,  with  his  Testament  open  on  his  knee, 
and  his  head  leaning  upon  his  hand ;  but  neither 
spoke.  It  was  yet  early,  and  the  children  lay  all 
asleep  together  in  their  little  rude  trundle-bed. 

Tom,  who  had,  to  the  full,  the  gentle,  domestic 
heart,  which,  woe  for  them  !  has  been  a  peculiar 
characteristic  of  his  unhappy  race,  got  up  and 
walked  silently  to  look  at  his  children. 

"  It  's  the  last  time,"  he  said. 

Aunt  Chloe  did  not  answer,  only  rubbed  away 
over  and  over  on  the  coarse  shirt,  already  as  smooth 
as  hands  could  make  it ;  and  finally  setting  her  iron 
suddenly  down  with  a  despairing  plunge,  she  sat 
down  to  the  table,  and  "  lifted  up  her  voice  and 
wept." 

"  S'pose  we  must  be  resigned  ;  but  oh  Lord  !  how 
ken  I  ?  If  I  kriow'd  anything  whar  you 's  goin',  or 
how  they  'd  sarve  you!  Missis  says  she  '11  try  and 
'deem  ye,  in  a  year  or  two  ;  but  Lor  !  nobody  never 
comes  up  that  goes  down  thar  !  They  kills  'em ! 
I  've  hearn  'em  tell  how  dey  works  'em  up  on  dem 
ar  plantations." 

"  There  '11  be  the  same  God  there,  Chloe,  that 
there  is  here." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "  s'pose  dere  will ;  but 
de  Lord  lets  drefful  things  happen,  sometimes.  I 
don't  seem  to  get  no  comfort  dat  way." 

"  I  'm  in  the  Lord's  hands,"  said  Tom  ;  "  nothin' 
can  go  no  furder  than  he  lets  it ;  and  thar  's  one 
thing  I  can  thank  him  for.  It  's  me  that 's  sold 
and  going  down,  and  not  you  nur  the  chil'en.  Here 
you're  safe; — what  comes  will  come  only  on  me; 
and  the  Lord,  he  '11  help  me,- — I  know  he  will." 

Ah,  brave,  manly  heart, — smothering  thine  own 
sorrow,  to  comfort  thy  beloved  ones !     Tom  spoke 


134  UNCLE   TOM  S    CABIN  :    OR, 

with  a  thick  utterance,  and  with  a  bitter  choking  in 
his  throat, — but  he  spoke  brave  and  strong. 

"  Let  's  think  on  our  marcies  !  "  he  added,  trem- 
ulously, as  if  he  was  quite  sure  he  needed  to  think 
on  them  very  hard  indeed. 

"  Marcies  !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe  ;  "  don't  see  no 
marcy  in  't !  'tan't  right !  'tan't  right  it  should  be 
so!  Mas'r  never  ought  ter  left  it  so  that  ye  could 
be  took  for  his  debts.  Ye  've  arnt  him  all  he  gets 
for  ye,  twice  over.  He  owed  ye  yer  freedom,  and 
ought  ter  gin  't  to  yer  years  ago.  Mebbe  he  can't 
help  himself  now,  but  I  feel  it  's  wrong.  Nothing 
can't  beat  that  ar  out  o'  me.  Sich  a  faithful  crittur 
as  ye  've  been, — and  allers  sot  his  business  'fore  yer 
own  every  way, — and  reckoned  on  him  more  than 
yer  own  wife  and  chil'en  !  Them  as  sells  heart's 
love  and  heart's  blood,  to  get  out  thar  scrapes,  de 
Lord  '11  be  up  to  'em  ! " 

"  Chloe  !  now,  if  ye  love  me,  ye  won't  talk  so, 
when  perhaps  jest  the  last  time  we  '11  ever  have 
together  !  And  I  '11  tell  ye,  Chloe,  it  goes  agin  me 
to  hear  one  word  agin  Mas'r.  Wan't  he  put  in  my 
arms  a  baby  ? — it  's  natur  I  should  think  a  heap  of 
him.  And  he  could  n't  be  spected  to  think  so 
much  of  poor  Tom.  Mas'rs  is  used  to  havin'  all 
these  yer  things  done  for  'em,  and  nat'lly  they 
don't  think  so  much  on  't.  They  can't  be  spected 
to,  no  way.  Set  him  'longside  of  other  Mas'rs — 
who  's  had  the  treatment  and  the  livin'  I  've  had  X 
And  he  never  would  have  let  this  yer  come  on 
me,  if  he  could  have  seed  it  aforehand.  I  know  he 
would  n't." 

"  Wal,  any  way,  thar  's  wrong  about  it  somewhar" 
said  Aunt  Chloe,  in  whom  a  stubboim  sense  of 
justice  was  a  predominant  trait ;  "  I  can't  jest  make 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  135 

out  whar  't  is,  but  thar  's  wrong  somewhar,  I  'm 
dar  o'  that." 

"  Yer  ought  ter  look  up  to  the  Lord  above — he  's 
above  all — thar  don't  a  sparrow  fall  without  him." 

"  It  don't  seem  to  comfort  me,  but  I  spect  it 
orter,"  said  Aunt  Chloe.  "  But  dar 's  no  use  talkin' ; 
I  '11  jes  wet  up  de  corn-cake,  and  get  ye  one  good 
breakfast,  'cause  nobody  knows  when  you  '11  get 
another." 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  sufferings  of  the  negroes 
sold  south,  it  must  be  remembered  that  all  the  in- 
stinctive affections  of  that  race  are  peculiarly  strong. 
Their  local  attachments  are  very  abiding.  They 
are  not  naturally  daring  and  enterprising,  but  home- 
loving  and  affectionate.  Add  to  this  all  the  terrors 
with  which  ignorance  invests  the  unknown,  and  add 
to  this,  again,  that  selling  to  the  south  is  set  before 
the  negro  from  childhood  as  the  last  severity  of 
punishment.  The  threat  that  terrifies  more  than 
whipping  or  torture  of  any  kind  is  the  threat  of 
being  sent  down  river.  We  have  ourselves  heard 
this  feeling  expressed  by  them,  and  seen  the  un- 
affected horror  with  which  they  will  sit  in  their 
gossipping  hours  and  tell  frightful  stories  of  that 
"  down  river,"  which  to  them  is 

"  That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns." 

A  missionary  among  the  fugitives  in  Canada  told 
us  that  many  of  the  fugitives  confessed  themselves 
to  have  escaped  from  comparatively  kind  masters, 
and  that  they  were  induced  to  brave  the  perils  of 
escape,  in  almost  every  case,  by  the  desperate  horror 
with  which  they  regarded  being  sold  south, — a  doom 
which  was  hanging  either  over  themselves  or  their 
husbands,  their  wives  or  children.     This  nerves  the 


I36  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

African,  naturally  patient,  timid  and  unenterprising, 
with  heroic  courage,  and  leads  him  to  suffer  hunger, 
cold,  pain,  the  perils  of  the  wilderness,  and  the  more 
dread  penalties  of  re-capture. 

The  simple  morning  meal  now  smoked  on  the 
table,  for  Mrs.  Shelby  had  excused  Aunt  Chloe's 
attendance  at  the  great  house  that  morning.  The 
poor  soul  had  expended  all  her  little  energies  on 
this  farewell  feast, — had  killed  and  dressed  her 
choicest  chicken,  and  prepared  her  corn-cake  with, 
scrupulous  exactness,  just  to  her  husband's  taste, 
and  brought  out  certain  mysterious  jars  on  the  man- 
tel-piece, some  preserves  that  were  never  produced 
except  on  extreme  occasions. 

"  Lor,  Pete,"  said  Mose,  triumphantly,  "  han't  we 
got  a  buster  of  a  breakfast !  "  at  the  same  time  catch- 
ing at  a  fragment  of  the  chicken. 

Aunt  Chloe  gave  him  a  sudden  box  on  the  ear. 
"  Thar  now  !  crowing  over  the  last  breakfast  yer 
poor  daddy  's  gwine  to  have  to  home  !  '*■ 

"  O,  Chloe  !  "  said  Tom,  gently. 

"  Wal,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  apron ;  "  I 's  so  tossed  about,  it 
makes  me  act  ugly." 

The  boys  stood  quite  still,  looking  first  at  their 
father  and  then  at  their  mother,  while  the  baby, 
climbing  up  her  clothes,  began  an  imperious,  com- 
manding cry. 

"  Thar  !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  wiping  her  eyes  and 
taking  up  the  baby ;  "  now  I 's  done,  I  hope, — now 
do  eat  something.  This  yer 's  my  nicest  chicken. 
Thar,  boys,  ye  shall  have  some,  poor  critturs  !  Yer 
mammy  's  been  cross  to  yer." 

The  boys  needed  no  second  invitation,  and  went 
in  with  great  zeal  for  the  eatables  ;  and  it  was  well 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  I37 

they  did  so,  as  otherwise  there  would  have  been 
very  little  performed  to  any  purpose  by  the  party. 

"Now,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  bustling  about  after 
breakfast.  "  I  must  put  up  yer  clothes.  Jest  like 
as  not,  he  '11  take  'em  all  away.  I  know  thar  ways 
— mean  as  dirt,  they  is  !  Wal,  now,  yer  flannels  for 
rhumatis  is  in  this  corner ;  so  be  earful,  'cause  there 
won't  nobody  make  ye  no  more.  Then  here  's  yer 
old  shirts,  and  these  yer  is  new  ones..  I  toed  off 
these  yer  stockings  last  night,  and  put  de  ball  in  'em 
to  mend  with.  But  Lor!  who'll  ever  mend  for 
ye  ? "  and  Aunt  Chloe,  again  overcome,  laid  her 
head  on  the  box  side,  and  sobbed.  "  To  think 
on  't !  no  crittur  to  do  for  ye,  sick  or  well !  I  don't 
railly  think  I  ought  ter  be  good  now  !  " 

The  boys,  having  eaten  everything  there  was  on 
the  breakfast-table,  began  now  to  take  some  thought 
of  the  case ;  and,  seeing  their  mother  crying,  and 
their  father  looking  very  sad,  began  to  whimper  and 
put  their  hands  to  their  eyes.  Uncle  Tom  had  the 
baby  on  his  knee,  and  was  letting  her  enjoy  herself 
to  the  utmost  extent,  scratching  his  face  and  pulling 
his  hair,  and  occasionally  breaking  out  into  clam- 
orous explosions  of  delight,  evidently  arising  out  of 
her  own  internal  reflections. 

"  Ay,  crow  away,  poor  crittur !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe ; 
"  ye  '11  have  to  come  to  it,  too  !  ye  '11  live  to  see  yer 
husband  sold,  or  mebbe  be  sold  yerself  ;  and  these 
yer  boys,  they  's  to  be  sold,  I  s'pose,  too,  jest  like  as 
not,  when  dey  gets  good  for  somethin'  ;  an't  no  use 
in  niggers  havin'  nothin'  !  " 

Here  one  of  the  boys  called  out,  "  Thar 's  Missis 
a-comin   in  !  " 

"  She  can't  do  no  good  ;  what 's  she  coming  for  ?  " 
said  Aunt  Chloe. 


I38  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  ■    OR, 

Mrs.  Shelby  entered.  Aunt  Chloe  set  a  chair  for 
her  in  a  manner,  decidedly  gruff  and  crusty.  She 
did  not  seem  to  notice  either  the  action  or  the  man- 
ner.    She  looked  pale  and  anxious. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  come  to — "  and  stopping 
suddenly,  and  regarding  the  silent  group,  she  sat 
down  in  the  chair,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her 
handkerchief,  began  to  sob. 

"  Lor,  now,  Missis,  don't — don't !  "  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  bursting  out  in  her  turn ;  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments they  all  wept  in  company.  And  in  those 
tears  they  all  shed  together,  the  high  and  the  lowly, 
melted  away  all  the  heart-burnings  and  anger  of  the 
oppressed.  O,  ye  who  visit  the  distressed,  do  ye 
know  that  everything  your  money  can  buy,  given 
with  a  cold,  averted  face,  is  not  worth  one  honest 
tear  shed  in  real  sympathy? 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "  I  can't 
give  you  anything  to  do  you  any  good.  If  I  give 
you  money,  it  wiil  only  be  taken  from  you.  But  I 
tell  you  solemnly,  and  before  God,  that  I  will  keep 
trace  of  you,  and  bring  you  back  as  soon  as  I  can 
command  the  money  ; — and,  till  then,  trust  in  God  !  " 

Here  the  boys  called  out  that  Mas'r  Haley  was 
coming,  and  then  an  unceremonious  kick  pushed 
open  the  door.  Haley  stood  there  in  very  ill  humor, 
having  ridden  hard  the  night  before,  and  being  not 
at  all  pacified  by  his  ill  success  in  re-capturing  his 
prey. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "ye  nigger,  ye  'r  ready  ?  Serv- 
ant, ma'am  !  said  he,  taking  off  his  hat,  as  he  saw 
Mrs.  Shelby. 

Aunt  Chloe  shut  and  corded  the  box,  and,  getting 
up,  looked  gruffly  on  the  trader,  her  tears  seeming 
suddenly  turned  to  sparks  of  fire. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  139 

Tom  rose  up  meekly,  to  follow  his  new  master, 
and  raised  up  his  heavy  box  on  his  shoulder.  His 
wife  took  the  baby  in  her  arms  to  go  with  him  to 
the  wagon,  and  the  children,  still  crying,  trailed  on 
behind. 

Mrs.  Shelby,  walking  up  to  the  trader,  detained 
him  for  a  few  moments,  talking  with  him  in  an 
earnest  manner ;  and  while  she  was  thus  talking, 
the  whole  family  party  proceeded  to  a  wagon,  that 
stood  ready  harnessed  at  the  door.  A  crowd  of  all 
the  old  and  young  hands  on  the  place  stood  gathered 
around  it,  to  bid  farewell  to  their  old  associate. 
Tom  had  been  looked  up  to,  both  as  a  head  servant 
and  a  Christian  teacher,  by  all  the  place,  and  there 
was  much  honest  sympathy  and  grief  about  him, 
particularly  among  the  women. 

"  Why,  Chloe,  you  bar  it  better  'n  we  do  !  "  said 
one  of  the  women,  who  had  been  weeping  freely, 
noticing  the  gloomy  calmness  with  which  Aunt 
Chloe  stood  by  the  wagon. 

"  I  's  done  my  tears  !  "  she  said,  looking  grimly 
at  the  trader,  who  was  coming  up.  "I  does  not 
feel  to  cry  'fore  dat  ar  old  limb,  no  how  !  " 

"Get  in!"  said  Haley  to  Tom,  as  he  strode 
through  the  crowd  of  servants,  who  looked  at  him 
with  lowering  brows. 

Tom  got  in,  and  Haley,  drawing  out  from  under 
the  wagon  seat  a  heavy  pair  of  shackles,  made  them 
fast  around  each  ankle. 

A  smothered  groan  of  indignation  ran  through 
the  whole  circle,  and  Mrs.  Shelby  spoke  from  the 
verandah, — 

"  Mr.  Haley,  I  assure  you  that  precaution  is  en- 
tirely unnecessary." 

"  Do'n  know,  ma'am ;  I  've  lost  one  five  hundred 
11 


140  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

dollars  from  this  yer  place,  and  I  can't  afford  to 
run  no  more  risks." 

"  What  else  could  she  spect  on  him  ? "  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  indignantly,  while  the  two  boys,  who  now 
seemed  to  comprehend  at  once  their  father's  destiny, 
clung  to  her  gown,  sobbing  and  groaning  vehe- 
mently. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  said  Tom,  "  that  Mas'r  George  hap- 
pened to  be  away." 

George  had  gone  to  spend  two  or  three  days  with 
a  companion  on  a  neighboring  estate,  and  having 
departed  early  in  the  morning,  before  Tom's  mis- 
fortune had  been  made  public,  had  left  without 
hearing  of  it. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Mas'r  George,"  he  said,  ear- 
nestly. 

Haley  whipped  up  the  horse,  and,  with  a  steady, 
mournful  look,  fixed  to  the  last  on  the  old  place, 
Tom  was  whirled  away. 

Mr.  Shelby  at  this  time  was  not  at  home.  He 
had  sold  Tom  under  the  spur  of  a  driving  necessity, 
to  get  out  of  the  power  of  a  man  whom  he  dreaded, 
— and  his  first  feeling,  after  the  consummation  of 
the  bargain,  had  been  that  of  relief.  But  his  wife's 
expostulations  awoke  his  half-slumbering  regrets ; 
and  Tom's  manly  disinterestedness  increased  the 
unpleasantness  of  his  feelings.  It  was  in  vain  that 
he  said  to  himself  that  he  had  a  right  to  do  it, — that 
everybody  did  it, — and  that  some  did  it  without 
even  the  excuse  of  necessity; — he  could  not  satisfy 
his  own  feelings  ;  and  that  he  might  not  witness  the 
unpleasant  scenes  of  the  consummation,  he  had  gone 
on  a  short  business  tour  up  the  country,  hoping  that 
all  would  be  over  before  he  returned. 

Tom  and  Haley  rattled  on  along  the  dusty  road, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  141 

whirling  past  every  old  familiar  spot,  until  the  bounds 
of  the  estate  were  fairly  passed,  and  they  found 
themselves  out  on  the  open  pike.  After  they  had 
ridden  about  a  mile,  Haley  suddenly  drew  up  at  f he 
door  of  a  blacksmith's  shop,  when,  taking  out  with 
him  a  pair  of  handcuffs,  he  stepped  into  the  shop, 
to  have  a  little  alteration  in  them. 

"  These  yer  's  a  little  too  small  for  his  build," 
said  Haley,  showing  the  fetters,  and  pointing  out  to 
Tom. 

"  Lor !  now,  if  thar  an't  Shelby's  Tom.  He 
han't  sold  him,  now  ?  "  said  the  smith. 

"  Yes,  he  has,"  said  Haley. 

"  Now,  ye  don't !  well,  reely,"  said  the  smith, 
"  who  'd  a  thought  it !  Why,  ye  need  n't  go  to  fet- 
terin'  him  up  this  yer  way.  He  's  the  faithfullest, 
best  crittur — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Haley ;  "  but  your  good  fellers 
are  just  the  critturs  to  want  ter  run  off.  Them 
stupid  ones,  as  does  n't  care  whar  they  go,  and 
shifless,  drunken  ones,  as  don't  care  for  nothin', 
they  '11  stick  by,  and  like  as  not  be  rather  pleased  to 
be  toted  round ;  but  these  yer  prime  fellers,  they 
hates  it  like  sin.  No  way  but  to  fetter  'em  ;  got 
legs, — they  '11  use  'em, — no  mistake." 

"Well,"  said  the  smith,  feeling  among  his  tools, 
"  them  plantations  down  thar,  stranger,  an't  jest  the 
place  a  Kentuck  nigger  wants  to  go  to  ;  they  dies 
thar  tol'able  fast,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Wal,  yes,  tol'able  fast,  ther  dying  is ;  what  with 
the  'climating  and  one  thing  and  another,  they  dies 
so  as  to  keep  the  market  up  pretty  brisk,"  said 
Haley. 

"  Wal,  now,  a  feller  can't  help  thinkin'  it  's  a 
mighty  pity  to  have   a  nice,   quiet,  likely  feller,  as 


142  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

good  un  as  Tom  is,  go  down  to  be  fairly  ground  up 
on  one  of  them  ar  sugar  plantations." 

"  Wal,  he  's  got  a  fa'r  chance.  I  promised  to  do 
well  by  him.  I  '11  get  him  in  house-servant  in  some 
good  old  family,  and  then,  if  he  stands  the  fever  and 
'climating,  he  '11  have  a  berth  good  as  any  nigger 
ought  ter  ask  for." 

"  He  leaves  his  wife  and  chil'en  up  here, 
s'pose  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  '11  get  another  thar.  Lord,  thar  's 
women  enough  everywhar,"  said  Haley. 

Tom  was  sitting  very  mournfully  on  the  outside 
of  the  shop  while  this  conversation  was  going  on. 
Suddenly  he  heard  the  quick,  short  click  of  a  horse's 
hoof  behind  him  ;  and,  before  he  could  fairly  awake 
from  his  surprise,  young  Master  George  sprang  into 
the  wagon,  threw  his  arms  tumultuously  round  his 
neck,  and  was  sobbing  and  scolding  with  energy. 

"  I  declare,  it 's  real  mean  !  I  don't  care  what 
they  say,  any  of  'em !  It  's  a  nasty,  mean  shame  I 
If  I  was  a  man,  they  should  n't  do  it, — they  should 
not,  so  / "  said  George,  with  a  kind  of  subdued 
howl. 

"  O  1  Mas'r  George  !  this  does  me  good  !  "  said 
Tom.  "  I  could  n't  ba'r  to  go  off  without  seein' 
ye!  It  does  me  real  good,  ye  can't  tell !  "  Here 
Tom  made  some  movement  of  his  feet,  and  George's 
eye  fell  on  the  fetters. 

"  What  a  shame  !  "  he  exclaimed,  lifting  his  hands. 
"  I  '11  knock  that  old  fellow  down— I  will !  " 

"  No  you  won't,  Mas'r  George  ;  and  you  must 
not  talk  so  loud.  It  won't  help  me  any,  to  anger 
him." 

"  Well,  I  won't,  then,  for  your  sake  ;  but  only  to 
think  of  it — is   n't  it   a  shame  ?     They  never  sent 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  143 

for  me,  nor  sent  me  any  word,  and,  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  Tom  Lincon,  I  should  n't  have  heard  it, 
I  tell  you,  I  blew  'em  up  well,  all  of  'em,  at  home  !  " 

"That  ar  was  n't  right,  I'm  'feard,  Mas'r 
George." 

"  Can't  help  it !  I  say  it 's  a  shame  !  Look  here, 
Uncle  Tom,"  said  he,  turning  his  back  to  the  shop, 
and  speaking  in  a  mysterious  tone,  "  I've  brought 
you  my  dollar  /" 

"  O !  I  could  n't  think  o'  takin'  on  ft,  Mas'r 
George,  no  ways  in  the  world !  "  said  Tom,  quite 
moved. 

"  But  you  shall  take  it !  "  said  George  ;  "  look 
here — I  told  Aunt  Chloe  I  'd  do  it,  and  she  advised 
me  just  to  make  a  hole  in  it,  and  put  a  string 
through,  so  you  could  hang  it  round  your  neck,  and 
keep  it  out  of  sight ;  else  this  mean  scamp  would! 
take  it  away.  I  tell  ye,  Tom,  I  want  to  blow  him, 
up  !  it  would  do  me  good  !  " 

"  No,  don't,  Mas'r  George,  for  it  won't  do  me  any- 
good." 

"  Well,  I  won't,  for  your  sake,"  said  George,  busily 
tying  his  dollar  round  Tom's  neck;  "but  there, 
now,  button  your  coat  tight  over  it,  and  keep  it,  and 
remember,  every  time  you  see  it,  that  I  '11  come 
down  after  you,  and  bring  you  back.  Aunt  Chloe 
and  I  have  been  talking  about  it.  I  told  her  not  to 
fear ;  I  '11  see  to  it,  and  I  '11  tease  father's  life  out, 
if  he  don't  do  it." 

"  O  !  Mas'r  George,  ye  must  n't  talk  so  'bout 
yer  father ! " 

"  Lor,  Uncle  Tom,  I  don't  mean  anything  bad." 

"  And  now,  Mas'r  George,"  said  Tom,  "  ye  must 
be  a  good  boy ;  'member  how  many  hearts  is  sot  on 
ye,     Al'ays   keep  close  to  yer  mother.     Don't  be 


144  UNCLE   TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

gettin'  into  any  of  them  foolish  ways  boys  has  of 
gettin'  too  big  to  mind  their  mothers.  Tell  ye 
what,  Mas'r  George,  the  Lord  gives  good  many 
things  twice  over ;  but  he  don't  give  ye  a  mother 
but  once.  Ye  '11  never  see  sich  another  woman, 
Mas'r  George,  if  ye  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old. 
So,  now,  you  hold  on  to  her,  and  grow  up,  and  be  a 
comfort  to  her,  thar  's  my  own  good  boy, — you  will 
now,  won't  ye  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  will,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  George,  seriously. 

"  And  be  careful  of  yer  speaking,  Mas'r  George. 
Young  boys,  when  they  comes  to  your  age,  is  wilful, 
sometimes— it 's  natur  they  should  be.  But  real  gen- 
tlemen, such  as  I  hopes  you  '11  be,  never  lets  fall  no 
words  that  is  n't  'spectful  to  thar  parents.  Ye  an't 
'fended,  Mas'r  George  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Uncle  Tom ;  you  always  did  give 
me  good  advice." 

"  I  's  older,  ye  know,"  said  Tom,  stroking  the 
boy's  fine,  curly  head  with  his  large,  strong  hand, 
but  speaking  in  a  voice  as  tender  as  a  woman's, 
""and  I  sees  all  that  's  bound  up  in  you.  O,  Mas'r 
■George,  you  has  everything, — l'arnin',  privileges, 
Teadin',  writin', — and  you  '11  grow  up  to  be  a  great, 
learned,  good  man,  and  all  the  people  on  the  place 
and  your  mother  and  father  '11  be  so  proud  on  ye  ! 
Be  a  good  Mas'r,  like  yer  father ;  and  be  a  Christian, 
like  yer  mother.  'Member  yer  Creator  in  the  days 
o'  yer  youth,  Mas'r  George." 

"  I  '11  be  real  good,  Uncle  Tom,  I  tell  you,"  said 
George.  "  I  'm  going  to  be  a  first-rater ;  and  don't 
you  be  discouraged.  I  '11  have  you  back  to  the 
place,  yet.  As  I  told  Aunt  Chloe  this  morning,  I  '11 
build  your  house  all  over,  and  you  shall  have  a  room 
for  a  parlor  with  a  carpet  on  it,  when  I  'm  a  man. 
O,  you  '11  have  good  times  yet !  " 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  1 45 

Haley  now  came  to  the  door,  with  the  handcuffs 
in  his  hands. 

"Look  here,  now,  Mister,"  said  George,  with  an 
air  of  great  superiority,  as  he  got  out,  "  I  shall  let 
father  and  mother  know  how  you  treat  Uncle  Tom !  " 

"  You  're  welcome,"  said  the  trader. 

"  I  should  think  you  'd  be  ashamed  to  spend  all 
your  life  buying  men  and  women,  and  chaining  them, 
like  cattle !  I  should  think  you  'd  feel  mean  !  said 
George. 

"  So  long  as  your  grand  folks  wants  to  buy  men 
and  women,  I  'm  as  good  as  they  is,"  said  Haley ; 
"  'tan't  any  meaner  sellin'  on  'em,  than  't  is  buyin' ! " 

"  I  '11  never  do  either,  when  I  'm  a  man,"  said 
George ;  "  I  'm  ashamed,  this  day,  that  I  'm  a  Ken- 
tuckian.  I  always  was  proud  of  it  before  ;  "  and 
George  sat  very  straight  on  his  horse,  and  looked 
round  with  an  air,  as  if  he  expected  the  state  would 
be  impressed  with  his  opinion. 

"  Well,  good-by,  Uncle  Tom  ;  keep  a  stiff  appei 
lip,"  said  George. 

"Good-by, Mas'r  George,"  said  Tom,  looking  fondly 
and  admiringly  at  him.  "  God  Almighty  bless  you  ! 
Ah  !  Kentucky  han't  got  many  like  you  !  "  he  said, 
in  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  as  the  frank,  boyish  face 
was  lost  to  his  view.  Away  he  went,  and  Tom 
looked,  till  the  clatter  of  his  horse's  heels  died  «vway, 
the  last  sound  or  sight  of  his  home.  But  over  his 
heart  there  seemed  to  be  a  warm  spot,  where  those 
young  hands  had  placed  that  precious  dollar.  Tom 
put  up  his  hand,  and  held  it  close  to  his  heart. 

"  Now,  I  tell  ye  what,  Tom,"  said  Haley,  as  he 
came  up  to  the  wagon,  and  threw  in  the  hand-cuffs, 
"  I  mean  to  start  fa'r  with  ye,  as  I  gen'ally  do  with 
my  niggers  ;  and  I  '11  tell  ye  now,  to  begin  witL,  you 


146  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

treat  me  fa'r,  and  I  '11  treat  you  fa'r  ;  I  an't  never 
hard  on  my  niggers.  Calculates  to  do  the  best  for 
'em  I  can.  Now,  ye  see,  you  'd  better  just  settle 
down  comfortable,  and  not  be  tryin'  no  tricks  ;  be- 
cause nigger's  tricks  of  all  sorts  I  'm  up  to,  and  it 's 
no  use.  If  niggers  is  quiet,  and  don't  try  to  get  off, 
they  has  good  times  with  me ;  and  if  they  don't, 
why,  it  's  thar  fault,  and  not  mine." 

Tom  assured  Haley  that  he  had  no  present  inten- 
tions of  running  off.  In  fact,  the  exhortation  seemed 
rather  a  superfluous  one  to  a  man  with  a  great  pair 
of  iron  fetters  on  his  feet.  But  Mr.  Haley  had  got 
in  the  habit  of  commencing  his  relations  with  his 
stock  with  little  exhortations  of  this  nature,  calcu- 
lated, as  he  deemed,  to  inspire  cheerfulness  and 
confidence,  and  prevent  the  necessity  of  any  un- 
pleasant scenes. 

And  here,  for  the  present,  we  take  our  leave  of 
Tom,  to  pursue  the  fortunes  of  other  characters  in 
our  story. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

IN    WHICH    PROPERTY   GETS    INTO   AN    IMPROPER 
STATE    OF    MIND. 

It  was  late  in  a  drizzly  afternoon  that  a  traveller 
alighted  at  the  door  of  a  small  country  hotel,  in  the 

village  of  N ,  in  Kentucky.     In   the  bar-room 

he  found  assembled  quite  a  miscellaneous  company, 
whom  stress  of  weather  had  driven  to  harbor,  and 
the  place  presented  the  usual  scenery  of  such  re- 
unions. Great,  tall,  raw-boned  Kentuckians,  attired 
in  hunting-shirts,  and  trailing  their  loose  joints  over 
a  vast  extent  of  territory,  with  the  easy  lounge  pecu- 
liar to  the  race, — rifles  stacked  away  in  the  corner, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 47 

shot-pouches,  game-bag's,  hunting-dogs,  and  little, 
"negroes,  all  rolled  together  in  the  corners,— were 
the  characteristic  features  in  the  picture.  At  each, 
end  of  the  fireplace  sat  a  long-legged  gentleman,, 
with  his  chair  tipped  back,  his  hat  on  his  head,  ancL 
the  heels  of  his  muddy  boots  reposing  sublimely  on. 
the  mantel-piece, — a  position,  we  will  inform  our 
readers,  decidedly  favorable  to  the  turn  of  reflection 
incident  to  western  taverns,  where  travellers  exhibit 
a  decided  preference  for  this  particular  mode  of 
elevating  their  understandings. 

Mine  host,  who  stood  behind  the  bar,  like  most 
of  his  countrymen,  was  great  of  stature,  good-natured, 
and  loose-jointed,  with  an  enormous  shock  of  hair 
on  his  head,  and  a  great  tall  hat  on  the  top  of  that.. 

In  fact,  everybody  in  the  room  bore  on  his  head 
this  characteristic  emblem  of  man's  sovereignty ; 
whether  it  were  felt  hat,  palm-leaf,  greasy  beaver,  or 
fine  new  chapeau,  there  it  reposed  with  true  repub- 
lican independence.  In  truth,  it  appeared  to  be  the 
characteristic  mark  of  every  individual.  Some  wore- 
them  tipped  rakishly  to  one  side — these  were  your 
men  of  humor,  jolly,  free-and-easy  dogs  ;  some  had 
them  jammed  independently  down  over  their  noses 
— these  were  your  hard  characters,  thorough  men, 
who,  when  they  wore  their  hats,  wanted  to  wear  them,, 
and  to  wear  them  just  as  they  had  a  mind  to ;  there 
were  those  who  had  them  set  far  over  back — wide- 
awake men,  who  wanted  a  clear  prospect  ;  while: 
careless  men,  who  did  not  know,  or  care,  how  their 
hats  sat,  had  them  shaking  about  in  all  directions.. 
The  various  hats,  in  fact,  were  quite  a  Shakspear- 
ean  study. 

Divers  negroes,  in  very  free-and-easy  pantaloon  s^ 
and  with  no  redundancy  in  the  shirt  line,  were  scut- 


148  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

tling  about,  hither  and  thither,  without  bringing  to 
pass  any  very  particular  results,  except  expressing 
a  generic  willingness  to  turn  over  everything  in 
creation  generally  for  the  benefit  of  Mas'r  and  his 
guests.  Add  to  this  picture  a  jolly,  crackling,  rol- 
licking fire,  going  rejoicingly  up  a  great  wide  chim- 
ney,— the  outer  door  and  every  window  being  set 
wide  open,  and  the  Calico  window-curtain  flopping 
and  snapping  in  a  good  stiff  breeze  of  damp  raw 
air, — and  you  have  an  idea  of  the  jollities  of  a  Ken- 
tucky tavern. 

Your  Kentuckian  of  the  present  day  is  a  good 
illustration  of  the  doctrine  of  transmitted  instincts 
and  peculiarities.  His  fathers  were  mighty  hunters, 
— men  who  lived  in  the  woods,  and  slept  under  the 
free,  open  heavens,  with  the  stars  to  hold  their 
candles ;  and  their  descendant  to  this  day  always 
acts  as  if  the  house  were  his  camp, — wears  his  hat 
at  all  hours,  tumbles  himself  about,  and  puts  his 
heels  on  the  tops  of  chairs  or  mantel-pieces,  just 
as  his  father  rolled  on  the  green  sward,  and  put  his 
upon  trees  and  logs, — keeps  all  the  windows  and 
doors  open,  winter  and  summer,  that  he  may  get 
air  enough  for  his  great  lungs, — calls  everybody 
"  stranger,"  with  nonchalant  bonhommie,  and  is  al- 
together the  frankest,  easiest,  most  jovial  creature 
living. 

Into  such  an  assembly  of  the  free  and  easy  our 
traveller  entered.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set  man, 
carefully  dressed,  with  a  round,  good-natured  coun- 
tenance, and  something  rather  fussy  and  particular 
in  his  appearance.  He  was  very  careful  of  his 
valise  and  umbrella,  bringing  them  in  with  his  own 
hands,  and  resisting,  pertinaciously,  all  offers  from 
the  various  servants  to   relieve   him  of  them.     He 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 49 

looked  round  the  bar-room  with  rather  an  anxious 
air,  and,  retreating  with  his  valuables  to  the  warm- 
est corner,  disposed  them  under  his  chair,  sat  down, 
and  looked  rather  apprehensively  up  at  the  worthy 
whose  heels  illustrated  the  end  of  the  mantel-piece, 
who  was  spitting  from  right  to  left,  with  a  courage 
and  energy  rather  alarming  to  gentlemen  of  weak 
nerves  and  particular  habits. 

"  I  say,  stranger,  how  are  ye  ?  "  said  the  aforesaid 
gentleman,  firing  an  honorary  salute  of  tobacco-juice 
in  the  direction  of  the  new  arrival. 

"  Well,  I  reckon,"  was  the  reply  of  the  other, 
as  he  dodged,  with  some  alarm,  the  threatening 
honor. 

"  Any  news  ? "  said  the  respondent,  taking  out  a 
strip  of  tobacco  and  a  large  hunting-knife  from  his 
pocket. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  the  man. 

"Chaw  ?  "  said  the  first  speaker,  handing  the  old 
gentleman  a  bit  of  his  tobacco,  with  a  decidedly 
brotherly  air. 

"  No,  thank  ye — it  don't  agree  with  me,"  said  the 
little  man,  edging  off. 

"  Don't,  eh  ? "  said  the  other,  easily,  and  stowing 
away  the  morsel  in  his  own  mouth,  in  order  to  keep 
up  the  supply  of  tobacco-juice,  for  the  general  benefit 
of  society. 

The  old  gentleman  uniformly  gave  a  little  start 
whenever  his  long-sided  brother  fired  in  his  direc- 
tion ;  and  this  being  observed  by  his  companion,  he 
very  good-naturedly  turned  his  artillery  to  another 
quarter,  and  proceeded  to  storm  one  of  the  fire-irons 
with  a  degree  of  military  talent  fully  sufficient  to 
take  a  city. 

"  What  's  that  ?  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  observ- 


150  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

ing  some  of  the  company  formed  in  a  group  around 
a  large  handbill. 

"  Nigger  advertised  ? "  said  one  of  the  company,, 
briefly. 

Mr.  Wilson,  for  that  was  the  old  gentleman's  name,, 
rose  up,  and,  after  carefully  adjusting  his  valise  and 
umbrella,  proceeded  deliberately  to  take  out  his  spec- 
tacles and  fix  them  on  his  nose  ;  and,  this  operation 
being  performed,  read  as  follows  : 

"  Ran  away  from  the  subscriber,  my  mulatto  boy,  George.  Said  George 
six  feet  in  height,  a  very  light  mulatto,  brown  curly  hair ;  is  very  intelligent, 
speaks  handsomely,  can  read  and  write  ;  will  probably  try  to  pass  for  a  white 
man ;  is  deeply  scarred  on  his  back  and  shoulders ;  has  been  branded  in  his 
right  hand  with  a  letter  H. 

"  I  will  give  four  hundred  dollars  for  him  alive,  and  the  same  sum  for  sat- 
isfactory proof  that  he  has  been  killed." 

The  old  gentleman  read  this  advertisement  from 
end  to  end,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  he  were  studying  it. 

The  long-legged  veteran,  who  had  been  besieging 
the  fire-iron,  as  before  related,  now  took  down  his 
cumbrous  length,  and  rearing  aloft  his  tall  form, 
walked  up  to  the  advertisement,  and  very  deliber- 
ately spit  a  full  discharge  of  tobacco-juice  on  it. 

"  There  's  my  mind  upon  that !  "  said  he,  briefly,, 
and  sat  down  again. 

"  Why,  now,  stranger,  what 's  that  for  ?  "  said  mine 
host. 

"  I  'd  do  it  all  the  same  to  the  writer  of  that  ar 
paper,  if  he  was  here,"  said  the  long  man,  coolly 
resuming  his  old  employment  of  cutting  tobacco. 
"  Any  man  that  owns  a  boy  like  that,  and  can't  find 
any  better  way  o'  treating  on  him,  deserves  to  lose 
him.  Such  papers  as  these  is  a  shame  to  Kentucky  ; 
that  's  my  mind  right  out,  if  anybody  wants  to 
know !  " 

"  Well,  now,  that 's  a  fact,"  said  mine  host,  as  he 
made  an  entry  in  his  book. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  151 

"  I  've  got  a  gang  of  boys,  sir,"  said  the  long  man, 
resuming  his  attack  on  the  fire-irons,  "  and  I  jest 
tells  'em — '  Boys,'  says  I, — '  run  now  !  dig  !  put !  jest 
when  ye  want  to  !  I  never  shall  come  to  look  after 
you  !  '  That 's  the  way  I  keep  mine.  Let  'em  know 
they  are  free  to  run  any  time,  and  it  jest  breaks  up 
their  wanting  to.  More  'n  all,  I  've  got  free  papers 
for  'em  all  recorded,  in  case  I  gets  keeled  up  any 
o'  these  times,  and  they  knows  it ;  and  I  tell  ye, 
stranger,  there  an't  a  fellow  in  our  parts  gets  more 
out  of  his  niggers  than  I  do.  Why,  my  boys  have 
been  to  Cincinnati,  with  five  hundred  dollars'  worth 
of  colts,  and  brought  me  back  the  money,  all  straight, 
time  and  agin.  It  stands  to  reason  they  should. 
Treat  'em  like  dogs,  and  you  '11  have  dogs'  work  and 
dogs'  actions.  Treat  'em  like  men,  and  you  '11  have 
men's  work."  And  the  honest  drover,  in  his 
warmth,  endorsed  this  moral  sentiment  by  firing  a 
perfect^/  de  joie  at  the  fireplace. 

"  I  think  you  're  altogether  right,  friend,"  said  Mr. 
Wilson  ;  "  and  this  boy  described  here  is  a  fine 
fellow — no  mistake  about  that.  He  worked  for  me 
some  half-dozen  years  in  my  bagging  factory,  and 
he  was  my  best  hand,  sir.  He  is  an  ingenious  fel- 
low, too ;  he  invented  a  machine  for  the  cleaning  of 
hemp — a  really  valuable  affair  ;  it  's  gone  into  use  in 
several  factories.  His  master  holds  the  patent  of 
it." 

"  I  '11  warrant  ye,"  said  the  drover,  "holds  it  and 
makes  money  out  of  it,  and  then  turns  round  and 
brands  the  boy  in  his  right  hand.  If  I  had  a  fair 
chance,  I  'd  mark  him,  I  reckon,  so  that  he  'd  carry 
it  one  while." 

"  These  yer  knowin'  boys  is  allers  aggravathr  and 
sarcy,"  said  a  coarse-looking  fellow,  from  the  other 


152  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

side  of  the  room ;  "  that 's  why  they  gets  cut  up 
and  marked  so.  If  they  behaved  themselves,  they 
would  n't." 

"  That  is  to  say,  the  Lord  made  'em  men,  and  it 's 
a  hard  squeeze  getting  'em  down  into  beasts,"  said 
the  drover,  dryly. 

"  Bright  niggers  is  n't  no  kind  of  'vantage  to  their 
masters,"  continued  the  other,  well  intrenched,  in  a 
coarse,  unconscious  obtuseness,  from  the  contempt 
of  his  opponent ;  "  what 's  the  use  o'  talents  and 
them  things,  if  you  can't  get  the  use  on  'em  yourself  ? 
Why,  all  the  use  they  make  on  't  is  to  get  round 
you.  I  've  had  one  or  two  of  these  fellers,  and  I  jest 
sold  'em  down  river.  I  knew  I  'd  got  to  lose  'em, 
first  or  last,  if  I  did  n't." 

"  Better  send  orders  up  to  the  Lord,  to  make  you 
a  set,  and  leave  out  their  souls  entirely,"  said  the 
drover. 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  ap- 
proach of  a  small  one-horse  buggy  to  the  inn.  It 
had  a  genteel  appearance,  and  a  well-dressed  gentle- 
manly man  sat  on  the  seat,  with  a  colored  servant 
driving. 

The  whole  party  examined  the  new-comer  with 
the  interest  with  which  a  set  of  loafers  on  a  rainy 
day  usually  examine  every  new-comer.  He  was 
very  tall,  with  a  dark,  Spanish  complexion,  fine, 
expressive  black  eyes,  and  close-curling  hair,  also 
of  a  glossy  blackness.  His  well-formed  aquiline 
nose,  straight  thin  lips,  and  the  admirable  contour 
of  his  finely-formed  limbs,  impressed  the  whole  com- 
pany instantly  with  the  idea  of  something  un- 
common. He  walked  easily  in  among  the  company, 
and  with  a  nod  indicated  to  his  waiter  where  to 
place  his  trunk,  bowed  to  the  company,  and,  with  his 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  153 

hat  in  his  hand,  walked  up  leisurely  to  the  bar,  and 
gave  in  his  name  as  Henry  Butler,  Oaklands,  Shelby 
County.  Turning,  with  an  indifferent  air,  he 
sauntered  up  to  the  advertisement,  and  read  it 
over. 

"  Jim,"  he  said  to  his  man,  "  seems  to  me  we  met 
a  boy  something  like  this,  up  at  Bernan's,  didn't 
we  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Jim,  "  only  I  an't  sure  about 
the  hand." 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  look,  of  course,"  said  the  stranger, 
with  a  careless  yawn.  Then,  walking  up  to  the 
landlord,  he  desired  him  to  furnish  him  with  a 
private  apartment,  as  he  had  some  writing  to  do 
immediately. 

The  landlord  was  all  obsequious,  and  a  relay  of 
about  seven  negroes,  old  and  young,  male  and 
female,  little  and  big,  were  soon  whizzing  about,  like 
a  covey  of  partridges,  bustling,  hurrying,  treading 
on  each  other's  toes,  and  tumbling  over  each  other, 
in  their  zeal  to  get  Mas'r's  room  ready,  while  he 
seated  himself  easily  on  a  chair  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  the 
man  who  sat  next  to  him. 

The  manufacturer,  Mr.  Wilson,  from  the  time  of 
the  entrance  of  the  stranger,  had  regarded  him 
with  an  air  of  disturbed  and  uneasy  curiosity.  He 
seemed  to  himself  to  have  met  and  been  acquainted 
with  him  somewhere,  but  he  could  not  recollect. 
Every  few  moments,  when  the  man  spoke,  or 
moved,  or  smiled,  he  would  start  and  fix  his  eyes 
on  him,  and  then  suddenly  withdraw  them,  as  the 
bright,  dark  eyes  met  his  with  such  unconcerned 
coolness.  At  last,  a  sudden  recollection  seemed  to 
flash  upon  him,  for  he  stared  at  the   stranger  with 


154  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

/ 

-such  an  air  of  blank  amazement  and  alarm,  that  he 
walked  up  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  I  think,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  recog- 
nition, and  extending  his  hand.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  didn't  recollect  you  before.  I  see  you  remember 
me, — Mr.  Butler,  of  Oaklands,  Shelby  County." 

"  Ye — yes — yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  like  one 
speaking  in  a  dream. 

Just  then  a  negro  boy  entered,  and  announced 
that  Mas'r's  room  was  ready. 

"  Jim,  see  to  the  trunks,"  said  the  gentleman, 
negligently  ;  then  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Wilson, 
lie  added — "  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  moments' 
conversation  with  you  on  business,  in  my  room,  if 
you  please." 

Mr.  Wilson  followed  him,  as  one  who  walks  in 
his  sleep  ;  and  they  proceeded  to  a  large  upper 
chamber,  where  a  new-made  fire  was  crackling,  and 
various  servants  flying  about,  putting  finishing 
touches  to  the  arrangements. 

When  all  was  done,  and  the  servants  departed, 
the  young  man  deliberately  locked  the  door,  and 
putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  faced  about,  and  fold- 
ing his  arms  on  his  bosom,  looked  Mr.  Wilson  full 
in  the  face. 

"  George  !  "  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  Yes,  George,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  could  n't  have  thought  it !  " 

"  I  am  pretty  well  disguised,  I  fancy,"  said  the 
young  man,  with  a  smile.  "  A  little  walnut  bark 
has  made  my  yellow  skin  a  genteel  brown,  and  I  've 
dyed  my  hair  black ;  so  you  see  I  don't  answer  to 
the  advertisement  at  all." 

"  O,  George !  but  this  is  a  dangerous  game  you 
are  playing.     I  could  not  have  advised  you  to  it." 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY. 


J55 


"  I  can  do  it  on  my  own  responsibility,"  said 
George,  with  the  same  proud  smile. 

We  remark,  en  passant,  that  George  was,  by  his 
father's  side,  of  white  descent.  His  mother  was 
one  of  those  unfortunates  of  her  race,  marked  out 
by  personal  beauty  to  be  the  slave  of  the  passions 
of  her  possessor,  and  the  mother  of  children  who 
may  never  know  a  father.  From  one  of  the  proud- 
est families  in  Kentucky  he  had  inherited  a  set  of 
fine  European  features,  and  a  high,  indomitable 
spirit.  From  his  mother  he  had  received  only  a 
slight  mulatto  tinge,  amply  compensated  by  its 
accompanying  rich,  dark  eye.  A  slight  change  in 
the  tint  of  the  skin  and  the  color  of  his  hair  had 
metamorphosed  him  into  the  Spanish-looking  fellow 
he  then  appeared;  and  as  gracefulness  of  move- 
ment and  gentlemanly  manners  had  always  been 
perfectly  natural  to  him,  he  found  no  difficulty  in 
playing  the  bold  part  he  had  adopted — that  of  a 
gentleman  travelling  with  his  domestic. 

Mr.  Wilson,  a  good-natured  but  extremely  fidgety 
and  cautious  old  gentleman,  ambled  up  and  down 
the  room,  appearing,  as  John  Bunyan  hath  it,  "  much 
tumbled  up  and  down  in  his  mind,"  and  divided 
between  his  wish  to  help  George,  and  a  certain  con- 
fused notion  of  maintaining  law  and  order ;  so,  as  he 
shambled  about,  he  delivered  himself  as  follows  : 

"  Well,  George,  I  s'pose  you'  re  running  away — 
leaving  your  lawful  master, — George — (I  don't  won- 
der at  it) — at  the  same  time,  I  'm  sorry,  George, — 
yes,  decidedly — I  think  I  must  say  that,  George — 
it  's  my  duty  to  tell  you  so." 

"  Why  are  you  sorry,  sir  ?  "  said  George,  calmly. 

"  Why,  to  see  you,  as  it  were,  setting  yourself  in 
opposition  to  the  laws  of  your  country." 

12 


156  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  My  country  !  "  said  George,  with  a  strong  and 
bitter  emphasis ;  "  what  country  have  I,  but  the 
grave, — and  I  wish  to  God  that  I  was  laid  there  !  " 

"  Why,  George,  no — no — it  won't  do  ;  this  way  of 
talking  is  wicked — unscriptural.  George,  you've 
got  a  hard  master — in  fact,  he  is — well  he  conducts 
himself  reprehensibly — I  can't  pretend  to  defend 
him.  But  you  know  how  the  angel  commanded 
Hagar  to  return  to  her  mistress,  and  submit  herself 
under  her  hand  ;  and  the  apostle  sent  back  Onesi- 
mus  to  his  master." 

"  Don't  quote  Bible  at  me  in  that  way,  Mr.  Wil- 
son," said  George,  with  a  flashing  eye,  "  don't!  for 
my  wife  is  a  Christian,  and  I  mean  to  be,  if  ever  I 
get  to  where  I  can  ;  but  to  quote  Bible  to  a  fellow 
in  my  circumstances,  is  enough  to  make  him  give  it 
up  altogether.  I  appeal  to  God  Almighty; — I  'm 
willing  to  go  with  the  case  to  Him,  and  ask  Him  if 
I  do  wrong  to  seek  my  freedom." 

"  These  feelings  are  quite  natural,  George,"  said 
the  good-natured  man,  blowing  his  nose.  "  Yes 
they  're  natural,  but  it  is  my  duty  not  to  encourage 
'em  in  you.  Yes,  my  boy,  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  now  ; 
it  's  a  bad  case — very  bad ;  but  the  apostle  says, 
'  Let  everyone  abide  in  the  condition  in  which  he  is 
called.'  We  must  all  submit  to  the  indications  of 
Providence,  George, — don't  you  see  ?  " 

George  stood  with  his  head  drawn  back,  his  arms 
folded  tightly  over  his  broad  breast,  and  a  bitter 
smile  curling  his  lips. 

"  I  wonder,  Mr.  Wilson,  if  the  Indians  should 
come  and  take  you  a  prisoner  away  from  your  wife 
and  children,  and  want  to  keep  you  all  your  life  hoe- 
ing corn  for  them,  if  you  'd  think  it  your  duty  to 
abide  in  the  condition  in  which  you  were  called. 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  157 

I  rather  think  that  you  'd  think  the  first  stray 
horse  you  could  find  an  indication  of  Providence — - 
should  n't  you  ?  " 

The  little  old  gentleman  stared  with  both  eyes  at 
this  illustration  of  the  case  ;  but,  though  not  much 
of  a  reasoner,  he  had  the  sense  in  which  some  logi- 
cians on  this  particular  subject  do  not  excel, — that 
of  saying  nothing,  where  nothing  could  be  said.  So, 
as  he  stood  carefully  stroking  his  umbrella,  and  fold- 
ing and  patting  down  all  the  creases  in  it,  he  pro- 
ceeded on  with  his  exhortations  in  a  general  way. 

"  You  see,  George,  you  know,  now,  I  always  have 
stood  your  friend  ;  and  whatever  I  've  said,  I  've  said 
for  your  good.  Now,  here,  it  seems  to  me,  you  're 
running  an  awful  risk.  You  can't  hope  to  carry 
it  out.  If  you  're  taken,  it  will  be  worse  with  you 
than  ever ;  they  '11  only  abuse  you,  and  half  kill  you, 
and  sell  you  down  river." 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  I  know  all  this,"  said  George.  "  I 
do  run  a  risk,  but — "  he  threw  open  his  overcoat,  and 
showed  two  pistols  and  a  bowie-knife.  "  There  !  " 
he  said,  "  I  'm  ready  for  'em  !  Down  south  I  never 
will  go.  No  !  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  can  earn  myself 
at  least  six  feet  of  free  soil, — the  first  and  last  I  shall 
ever  own  in  Kentucky  !  " 

"  Why,  George,  this  state  of  mind  is  awful ;  it  's 
getting  really  desperate,  George.  I  'm  concerned. 
Going  to  break  the  laws  of  your  country  ! " 

"  My  country  again  !  Mr.  Wilson,  you  have  a 
country ;  but  what  country  have  I,  or  any  one  like 
me,  born  of  slave  mothers  ?  What  laws  are  there  for 
us  ?  We  don't  make  them, — we  don't  consent  to 
them, — we  have  nothing  to  do  with  them  ;  all  they 
do  for  us  is  to  crush  us,  and  keep  us  down.  Have 
n't  I  heard  your  Fourth-of-July  speeches  ?     Don't 


158  UNCLE   tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

you  tell  us  all,  once  a  year,  that  governments  derive 
their  just  power  from  the  consent  of  the  governed? 
Can't  a  fellow  think,  that  hears  such  things  ?  Can't 
he  put  this  and  that  together,  and  see  what  it  comes 
to  ? " 

Mr.  Wilson's  mind  was  one  of  those  that  may  not 
unaptly  be  represented  by  a  bale  of  cotton, — downy, 
soft,  benevolently  fuzzy  and  confused.  He  really 
pitied  George  with  all  his  heart,  and  had  a  sort  of 
dim  and  cloudy  perception  of  the  style  of  feeling 
that  agitated  him  ;  but  he  deemed  it  his  duty  to  go 
on  talking  good  to  him  with  infinite  pertinacity. 

"  George,  this  is  bad.  I  must  tell  you,  you  know, 
as  a  friend,  you  'd  better  not  be  meddling  with  such 
notions  ;  they  are  bad,  George,  very  bad,  for  boys  in 
your  condition, — very ;  "  and  Mr.  Wilson  sat  down 
to  a  table,  and  began  nervously  chewing  the  handle 
of  his  umbrella. 

"  See  here,  now,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  George,  com- 
ing up  and  sitting  himself  determinately  down  in 
front  of  him  ;  "look  at  me,  now.  Don't  I  sit  before 
you,  every  way,  just  as  much  a  man  as  you  are  ? 
Look  at  my  face, — look  at  my  hands, — look  at  my 
body,"  and  the  young  man  drew  himself  up  proudly; 
"  why  am  I  not  a.  man,  as  much  as  anybody  ?  Well, 
Mr.  Wilson,  hear  what  I  can  tell  you.  I  had  a  father 
—one  of  your  Kentucky  gentlemen— who  did  n't 
think  enough  of  me  to  keep  me  from  being  sold 
with  his  dogs  and  horses,  to  satisfy  the  estate,  when 
he  died.  I  saw  my  mother  put  up  at  sheriff's  sale, 
with  her  seven  children.  They  were  sold  before  her 
eyes,  one  by  one,  all  to  different  masters  ;  and  I  was 
the  youngest.  She  came  and  kneeled  down  before 
old  Mas'r,  and  begged  him  to  buy  her  with  me,  that 
she  might  have  at  least  one  child  with  her  ;  and  he 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  1 59 

kicked  her  away  with  his  heavy  boot.  I  saw  him 
do  it ;  and  the  last  that  I  heard  was  her  moans  and 
screams,  when  I  was  tied  to  his  horse's  neck,  to  be: 
carried  off  to  his  place." 

"  Well,  then  ?  " 

f  My  master  traded  with  one  of  the  men,  and 
bought  my  oldest  si-ster.  She  was  a  pious,  good 
girl, — a  member  of  the  Baptist  church, — and  as 
handsome  as  my  poor  mother  had  been.  She  was 
well  brought  up,  and  had  good  manners.  At  first, 
I  was  glad  she  was  bought,  for  I  had  one  friend  near 
me.  I  was  soon  sorry  for  it.  Sir,  I  have  stood  at 
the  door  and  heard  her  whipped,  when  it  seemed  as  if 
every  blow  cut  into  my  naked  heart,  and  I  could  n't 
do  anything  to  help  her  ;  and  she  was  whipped,, 
sir,  for  wanting  to  live  a  decent  Christian  life,  such 
as  your  laws  give  no  slave  girl  a  right  to  live  ;  and 
at  last  I  saw  her  chained  with  a  trader's  gang,  to  be 
sent  to  market  in  Orleans, — sent  therefor  nothing' 
else  but  that, — and  that 's  the  last  I  know  of  her. 
Well,  I  grew  up, — long  years  and  years, — no  father, 
no  mother,  no  sister,  not  a  living  soul  that  cared  for 
me  more  than  a  dog ;  nothing  but  whipping,  scold- 
ing, starving.  Why,  sir,  I  've  been  so  hungry  that  I 
have  been  glad  to  take  the  bones  they  threw  to  their 
dogs  ;  and  yet,  when  I  was  a  little  fellow,  and  laid 
awake  whole  nights  and  cried,  it  was  n't  the  hunger, 
it  was  n't  the  whipping,  I  cried  for.  No,  sir ;  it 
was  for  my  mother  and  my  sisters, — It  was  because  I 
had  n't  a  friend  to  love  me  on  earth.  I  never  knew 
what  peace  or  comfort  was.  I  never  had  a  kind  word 
spoken  to  me  till  I  came  to  work  in  your  factory. 
Mr.  Wilson,  you  treated  me  well ;  you  encouraged 
me  to  do  well,  and  to  learn  to  read  and  write,  and  to 
try  to  make  something  of  myself  ;  and  God  knows 


l6o  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN:    OR, 

-how  grateful  I  am  for  it.  Then,  sir,  I  found  my  wife ; 
you  've  seen  her, — you  know  how  beautiful  she  is. 
When  I  found  she  loved  me,  when  I  married  her,  I 
•scarcely  could  believe  I  was  alive,  I  was  so  happy ; 
and,  sir,  she  is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful.  But  now 
"what  ?  Why,  now  comes  my  master,  takes  me  right 
away  from  my  work,  and  my  friends,  and  all  I  like, 
and  grinds  me  down  into  the  very  dirt !  And  why  ? 
-Because,  he  says,  I  forgot  who  I  was ;  he  says,  to 
teach  me  that  I  am  only  a  nigger  !  After  all,  and 
last  of  all,  he  comes  between  me  and  my  wife,  and 
says  I  shall  give  her  up,  and  live  with  another  woman. 
And  all  this  your  laws  give  him  power  to  do,  in  spite 
of  God  or  man.  Mr.  Wilson,  look  at  it !  There  is  n't 
one  of  all  these  things,  that  have  broken  the  hearts 
of  my  mother  and  my  sister,  and  my  wife  and  my- 
self, but  your  laws  allow,  and  give  every  man  power 
to  do,  in  Kentucky,  and  none  can  say  to  him,  nay ! 
Do  you  call  these  the  laws  of  my  country  ?  Sir,  I 
have  n't  any  country,  any  more  than  I  have  any 
father.  But  I  'm  going  to  have  one.  I  don't  want 
anything  of  your  country,  except  to  be  let  alone, — 
to  go  peaceably  out  of  it ;  and  when  I  get  to  Canada, 
where  the  laws  will  own  me  and  protect  me,  that 
shall  be  my  country,  and  its  laws  I  will  obey.  But 
if  any  man  tries  to  stop  me,  let  him  take  care,  for  I 
am  desperate.  I  '11  fight  for  my  liberty  to  the  last 
breath  I  breathe.  You  say  your  fathers  did  it ;  if 
it  was  right  for  them,  it  is  right  for  me  !  " 

This  speech,  delivered  partly  while  sitting  at  the 
table,  and  partly  walking  up  and  down  the  room, — 
delivered  with  tears,  and  flashing  eyes,  and  despair- 
ing gestures, — was  altogether  too  much  for  the 
good-natured  old  body  to  whom  it  was  addressed, 
who  had   pulled  out   a  great  yellow    silk   pocket- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  l6l 

handkerchief,  and  was  mopping  up  his  face  with 
great  energy. 

"  Blast  .'em  all !  "  he  suddenly  broke  out.  "  Have 
n't  I  always  said  so — the  infernal  old  cusses  !  I 
hope  I  an't  swearing,  now.  Well !  go  ahead,  George, 
go  ahead ;  but  be  careful,  my  boy ;  don't  shoot 
anybody,  George,  unless — well — you  'd  better  not 
shoot,  I  reckon  ;  at  least,  I  would  n't  hit  anybody, 
you  know.  Where  is  your  wife,  George  ?  "  he  added, 
as  he  nervously  rose,  and  began  walking  the 
room. 

"  Gone,  sir,  gone,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  the 
Lord  only  knows  where, — gone  after  the  north  star; 
and  when  we  ever  meet,  or  whether  we  meet  at  all 
in  this  world,  no  creature  can  tell." 

"Is  it  possible!  astonishing!  from  such  a  kind 
family  ? " 

"  Kind  families  get  in  debt,  and  the  laws  of  our 
country  allow  them  to  sell  the  child  out  of  its 
mother's  bosom  to  pay  its  master's  debts,"  said 
George,  bitterly. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  honest  old  man,  fumbling 
in  his  pocket.  "  I  s'pose,  perhaps,  I  an't  following 
my  judgment, — hang  it,  I  won't  follow  my  judg- 
ment ! "  he  added,  suddenly ;  "  so  here,  George," 
and,  taking  out  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket-book, 
he  offered  them  to  George. 

"  No,  my  kind,  good  sir  !  "  said  George.  "  You  've 
done  a  great  deal  for  me,  and  this  might  get  you 
into  trouble.  I  have  money  enough,  I  hope,  to  take 
me  as  far  as  I  need  it." 

"  No,  but  you  must,  George.  Money  is  a  great 
help  everywhere  ; — can't  have  too  much,  if  you  get 
it  honestly.  Take  it, — do  take  it,  now, — do,  my 
bov  ! " 


1 62  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  On  condition,  sir,  that  I  may  repay  it  at  some 
future  time,  I  will,"  said  George,  taking  up  the 
money. 

"  And  now,  George,  how  long  are  you  going  to 
travel  in  this  way  ? — not  long  or  far,  I  hope.  It 's 
well  carried  on,  but  too  bold.  And  this  black  fel- 
low,— who  is  he  ?  " 

"  A  true  fellow,  who  went  to  Canada  more  than  a 
year  ago.  He  heard,  after  he  got  there,  that  his 
master  was  so  angry  at  him  foY  going  off  that  he 
had  whipped  his  poor  old  mother;  and  he  has  come 
all  the  way  back  to  comfort  her,  and  get  a  chance 
to  get  her  away." 

"  Has  he  got  her  ?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  he  has  been  hanging  about  the  place, 
and  found  no  chance  yet.  Meanwhile,  he  is  going 
with  me  as  far  as  Ohio,  to  put  me  among  friends 
that  helped  him,  and  then  he  will  come  back  after 
her." 

"  Dangerous,  very  dangerous  !  "  said  the  old  man. 

George  drew  himself  up,  and  smiled  disdainfully. 

The  old  gentleman  eyed  him  from  head  to  foot, 
with  a  sort  of  innocent  wonder. 

"  George,  something  has  brought  you  out  wonder- 
fully. You  hold  up  your  head,  and  speak  and  move 
like  another  man,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  Because  I  'm  a  freeman  /"  said  George,  proudly. 
"  Yes,  sir ;  I  've  said  Mas'r  for  the  last  time  to  any 
man .     I'm  free  ! ' ' 

"  Take  care !  You  are  not  sure, — you  may  be 
taken." 

"All  men  are  free  and  equal  in  the  grave,  if  it 
comes  to  that,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  George. 

"  I  'm  perfectly  dumb-foundered  with  your  bold- 
ness !  "  said  Mr.  Wilson, — "  to  come  right  here  to 
the  nearest  tavern  !  " 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 63 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  it  is  so  bold,  and  this  tavern  is  so- 
near,  that  they  will  never  think  of  it ;  they  will 
look  for  me  on  ahead,  and  you  yourself  would  n't 
know  me.  Jim's  master  don't  live  in  this  county ; 
he  is  n't  known  in  these  parts.  Besides,  he  is  given 
up  ;  nobody  is  looking  after  him,  and  nobody  will 
take  me  up  from  the  advertisement,  I  think." 

"  But  the  mark  in  your  hand  ? " 

George  drew  off  his  glove,  and  showed  a  newly- 
healed  scar  in  his  hand. 

"That  is  a  parting  proof  of  Mr.  Harris'  regard," 
he  said,  scornfully.  "  A  fortnight  ago,  he  took  it 
into  his  head  to  give  it  to  me,  because  he  said  he 
believed  I  should  try  to  get  away  one  of  these  days. 
Looks  interesting,  does  n't  it  ?  "  he  said,  drawing  his 
glove  on  again. 

"  I  declare,  my  very  blood  runs  cold  when  I 
think  of  it, — your  condition  and  your  risks  !  "  said 
Mr.  Wilson. 

"Mine  has  run  cold  a  good  many  years,  Mr. 
Wilson  ;  at  present,  it  's  about  up  to  the  boiling 
point,"  said  George. 

"  Well,  my  good  sir, "  continued  George,  after  a 
few  moments'  silence,  "  I  saw  you  knew  me  ;  I 
thought  I  'd  just  have  this  talk  with  you,  lest  your 
surprised  looks  should  bring  me  out.  I  leave  early 
to-morrow  morning,  before  daylight ;  by  to-morrow 
night  I  hope  to  sleep  safe  in  Ohio.  I  shall  travel 
by  daylight,  stop  at  the  best  hotels,  go  to  the  dinner- 
tables  with  the  lords  of  the  land.  So,  good-by,  sir  ; 
If  you  hear  that  I  'm  taken,  you  may  know  that  I  'm 
dead  !  " 

George  stood  up  like  a  rock,  and  put  out  his  hand 
with  the  air  of  a  prince.  The  friendly  little  old 
man  shook  it  heartily,  and  after  a  little  shower  of 


164  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

caution,  he  took  his  umbrella,  and  fumbled  his  way 
out  of  the  room. 

George  stood  thoughtfully  looking  at  the  door,  as 
the  old  man  closed  it.  A  thought  seemed  to  flash 
across  his  mind.  He  hastily  stepped  to  it,  and 
opening  it,  said, 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  one  word  more." 

The  old  gentleman  entered  again,  and  George,  as 
before,  locked  the  door,  and  then  stood  for  a  few 
moments  looking  on  the  floor,  irresolutely.  At  last, 
raising  his  head  with  a  sudden  effort — 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  you  have  shown  yourself  a  Christian 
in  your  treatment  of  me, — I  want  to  ask  one  last 
deed  of  Christian  kindness  of  you." 

"  Well,  George  ? " 

"  Well,  sir, — what  you  said  was  true.  I  am  run- 
ning a  dreadful  risk.  There  is  n't,  on  earth,  a 
living  soul  to  care  if  I  die,"  he  added,  drawing  his 
breath  hard,  and  speaking  with  a  great  effort, — "  I 
shall  be  kicked  out  and  buried  like  a  dog,  and 
nobody  '11  think  of  it  a  day  after, — only  my  poor  wife  ! 
Poor  soul !  she  '11  mourn  and  grieve  ;  and  if  you  'd 
only  contrive,  Mr.  Wilson,  to  send  this  little  pin  to 
her.  She  gave  it  to  me  for  a  Christmas  present, 
poor  child!  Give  it  to  her,  and  tell  her  I  loved 
her  to  the  last.  Will  you  ?  Will  you  ?  "  he  added, 
earnestly. 

"Yes,  certainly — poor  fellow !  "  said  the  old 
gentleman,  taking  the  pin,  with  watery  eyes,  and  a 
melancholy  quiver  in  his  voice. 

"■  Tell  her  one  thing,"  said  George,  "  it 's  my  last 
wish,  if  she  can  get  to  Canada,  to  go  there.  No 
matter  how  kind  her  mistress  is, — no  matter  how 
much  she  loves  her  home  ;  beg  her  not  to  go  back, — 
for  slavery  always  ends  in  misery.     Tell  her  to  bring 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 65 

up  our  boy  a  free  man,  and  then  he  won't  suffer  as 
I  have.     Tell  her  this,  Mr.  Wilson,  will  you  ?  " 

44  Yes,  George,  I  '11  tell  her  ;  but  I  trust  you  won't 
die  ;  take  heart, — you  're  a  brave  fellow.  Trust  in 
the  Lord,  George.  I  wish  in  my  heart  you  were 
safe  through,  though, — that 's  what  I  do. " 

"  Is  there  a  God  to  trust  in  ? "  said  George,  in 
such  a  tone  of  bitter  despair  as  arrested  the  old 
gentleman's  words.  "  O,  I  've  seen  things  all  my 
life  that  have  made  me  feel  that  there  can't  be  a 
God.  You  Christians  don't  know  how  these  things 
look  to  us.  There  's  a  God  for  you,  but  is  there  any 
for  us  ? " 

"  O,  now,  don't, — don't,  my  boy  !  "  said  the  old 
man,  almost  sobbing  as  he  spoke  ;  "  don't  feel  so  ! 
There  is — there  is  ■  clouds  and  darkness  are  around 
about  him,  but  righteousness  and  judgment  are  the 
habitation  of  his  throne.  There  's  a  God,  George, 
— believe  it ;  trust  in  him,  and  I  'm  sure  he  '11  help 
you.  Everything  will  be  set  right, — if  not  in  this 
life,  in  another." 

The  real  piety  and  benevolence  of  the  simple  old 
man  invested  him  with  a  temporary  dignity  and 
authority,  as  he  spoke.  George  stopped  his  distracted 
walk  up  and  down  the  room,  stood  thoughtfully  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  quietly, 

"  Thank  you  for  saying  that,  my  good  friend  ;  I  '11 
think  of  that." 

CHAPTER  XII. 

SELECT    INCIDENT    OF    LAWFUL    TRADE. 

*'  In  Ramah  there  was  a  voice  heard, — weeping,  and  lamentation,  and  great 
mourning;  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  and  would  not  be  comforted." 

Mr.  Haley  and  Tom  jogged  onward  in  their 
wagon,  each,  for  a  time,  absorbed  in  his  own  refiec- 


1 66  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :   OR, 

tions.  Now,  the  reflections  of  two  men  sitting  side 
by  side  are  a  curious  thing, — seated  on  the  same 
seat,  having  the  same  eyes,  ears,  hands  and  organs 
of  all  sorts,  and  having  pass  before  their  eyes  the 
same  objects, — it  is  wonderful  what  a  variety  we 
shall  find  in  these  same  reflections  ! 

As,  for  example,  Mr  Haley :  he  thought  first  of 
Tom's  length,  and  breadth,  and  height,  and  what  he 
would  sell  for,  if  he  was  kept  fat  and  in  good  case 
till  he  got  him  into  market.  He  thought  of  how  he 
should  make  out  his  gang  ;  he  thought  of  the  respec- 
tive market  value  of  certain  supposititious  men  and 
women  and  children  who  were  to  compose  it,  and 
other  kindred  topics  of  the  business ;  then  he 
thought  of  himself,  and  how  humane  he  was,  that 
whereas  other  men  chained  their  "  niggers  "  hand 
and  foot  both,  he  only  put  fetters  on  the  feet,  and 
left  Tom  the  use  of  his  hands,  as  long  as  he  behaved 
well ;  and  he  sighed  to  think  how  ungrateful  human 
nature  was,  so  that  there  was  even  room  to  doubt 
whether  Tom  appreciated  his  mercies.  He  had 
been  taken  in  so  by  "  niggers "  whom  he  had 
favored  :  but  still  he  was  astonished  to  consider 
how  good-natured  he  yet  remained  ! 

As  to  Tom,  he  was  thinking  over  some  words  of 
an  unfashionable  old  book,  which  kept  running 
through  his  head,  again  and  again,  as  follows : 
"  We  have  here  no  continuing  city,  but  we  seek  one 
to  come  ;  wherefore  God  himself  is  not  ashamed  to 
be  called  our  God ;  for  he  hath  prepared  for  us  a 
city."  These  words  of  an  ancient  volume,  got  up 
principally  by  "  ignorant  and  unlearned  men,"  have,, 
through  all  time,  kept  up,  somehow,  a  strange  sort 
of  power  over  the  minds  of  poor,  simple  fellows,  like 
Tom.     They  stir  up  the  soul  from  its  depths,  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  167 

rouse,  as  with  trumpet  call,  courage,  energy,  and 
enthusiasm,  where  before  was  only  the  blackness 
of  despair. 

Mr,  Haley  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  sundry  news- 
papers, and  began  looking  over  their  advertisements, 
with  absorbed  interest.  He  was  not  a  remarkably 
fluent  reader,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  in  a 
sort  of  recitative  half-aloud,  by  way  of  calling  in  his 
ears  to  verify  the  deductions  of  his  eyes.  In  this 
tone  he  slowly  recited  the  following  paragraph  : 

Executor's  Sale, — Negroes! — Agreeably  to  order  of  court,  will  be 
sold,  on  Tuesday,  February  20,  before  the  Court-house  door,  in  the  town  of 
Washington,  Kentucky,  the  following  negroes:  Hagar,  aged  60;  John, 
aged  30;  Ben,  aged  21 ;  Saul,  aged  25  ;  Albert,  aged  14.  Sold  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  creditors  and  heirs  of  the  estate  of  Jesse  Blutchford,  Esq. 

Samuel  Morris, 
Thomas  Flint, 

Executors. " 

"  This  yer  I  must  look  at,"  said  he  to  Tom,  for 
want  of  somebody  else  to  talk  to. 

"  Ye  see,  I  'm  going  to  get  up  a  prime  gang  to 
take  down  with  ye,  Tom  ;  it  '11  make  it  sociable  and 
pleasant  like, — good  company  will,  ye  know.  We 
must  drive  right  to  Washington  first  and  foremost, 
and  then  I  '11  clap  you  into  jail,  while  I  does  the 
business." 

Tom  received  this  agreeable  intelligence  quite 
meekly ;  simply  wondering,  in  his  own  heart,  how 
many  of  these  doomed  men  had  wives  and  children, 
and  whether  they  would  feel  as  he  did  about  leav- 
ing them.  It  is  to  be  confessed,  too,  that  the  naive, 
off-hand  information  that  he  was  to  be  thrown  into 
jail  by  no  means  produced  an  agreeable  impression 
on  a  poor  fellow  who  had  always  prided  himself  on 
a  strictly  honest  and  upright  course  of  life.  Yes, 
Tom,  we  must  confess  it,  was  rather  proud  of  his 
honesty,  poor  fellow, — not  having  very  much  else 


1 68  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

to  be  proud  of ; — if  he  had  belonged  to  some 
of  the  higher  walks  of  society,  he,  perhaps,  would 
never  have  been  reduced  to  such  straits.  However, 
the  day  wore  on,  and  the  evening  saw  Haley  and 
Tom  comfortably  accommodated  in  Washington, — 
the  one  in  a  tavern,  and  the  other  in  a  jail. 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  a  mixed 
throng  was  gathered  around  the  court-house  steps, 
— smoking,  chewing,  spitting,  swearing,  and  convers- 
ing, according  to  their  respective  tastes  and  turns, 
— waiting  for  the  auction  to  commence.  The  men 
and  women  to  be  sold  sat  in  a  group  apart,  talking 
in  a  low  tone  to  each  other.  The  woman  who  had 
been  advertised  by  the  name  of  Hagar  wras  a  regular 
African  in  feature  and  figure.  She  might  have 
been  sixty,  but  was  older  than  that  by  hard  work 
and  disease,  was  partially  blind,  and  somewhat 
crippled  with  rheumatism.  By  her  side  stood  her 
only  remaining  son,  Albert,  a  bright-looking  little 
fellow  of  fourteen  years.  The  boy  was  the  only- 
survivor  of  a  large  family,  who*  had  been  successively- 
sold  away  from  her  to  a  southern  market.  The 
mother  held  on  to  him  with  both  her  shaking  hands, 
and  eyed  with  intense  trepidation  every  one  who 
walked  up  to  examine  him. 

"  Don't  be  feard,  Aunt  Hagar,"  said  the  oldest 
of  the  men,  "  I  spoke  to  Mas'r  Thomas  'bout  it, 
and  he  thought  he  might  manage  to  sell  you  in  a 
lot  both  together." 

"  Dey  need  n't  call  me  worn  out  yet,"  said  she, 
lifting  her  shaking  hands.  "  I  can  cook  yet,  and 
scrub,  and  scour, — I  'm  wuth  a  buying,  if  I  do  come 
cheap  ; — tell  em  dat  ar, — you  tell  em,"  she  added, 
earnestly. 

Haley  here  forced  his  way  into  the  group,  walked 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 69 

up  to  the  old  man,  pulled  his  mouth  open  and  looked 
in,  felt  of  his  teeth,  made  him  stand  and  straighten 
himself,  bend  his  back,  and  perform  various  evolu- 
tions to  show  his  muscles ;  and  then  passed  on  to 
the  next,  and  put  him  through  the  same  trial.  Walk- 
ing up  last  to  the  boy,  he  felt  of  his  arms,  straight- 
ened his  hands,  and  looked  at  his  fingers,  and  made 
him  jump,  to  show  his  agility. 

"  He  an't  gwine  to  be  sold  widout  me  ! "  said  the 
old  woman,  with  passionate  eagerness  ;  "  he  and  I 
goes  in  a  lot  together;  I  's  rail  strong  yet,  Mas'r, 
and  can  do  heaps  o'  work, — heaps  on  it,  Mas'r." 

"  On  plantation  ?  "  said  Haley,  with  a  contemp- 
tuous glance.  "  Likely  story  !  "  and,  as  if  satisfied 
with  his  examination,  he  walked  out  and  looked, 
and  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pocket,  his  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  and  his  hat  cocked  on  one  side,  ready 
for  action. 

"  What  think  of  'em  ?  "  said  a  man  who  had  been 
following  Haley's  examination,  as  if  to  make  up  his 
own  mind  from  it. 

"  Wal,"  said  Haley,  spitting,  "  I  shall  put  in,  I 
think,  for  the  youngerly  ones  and  the  boy." 

"  They  want  to  sell  the  boy  and  the  old  woman 
together,"  said  the  man. 

V  Find  it  a  tight  pull ; — why,  she  's  an  old  rack 
o'  bones, — not  worth  her  salt." 

"  You  would  n  't,  then  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"  Anybody  'd  be  a  fool  't  would.  She 's  half 
blind,  crooked  with  rheumatis,  and  foolish  to  boot." 

"  Some  buys  up  these  yer  old  critturs,  and  ses 
there  's  a  sight  more  wear  in  'em  than  a  body  'd 
think,"  said  the  man,  reflectively. 

"  No  go,  't  all,"  said  Haley  ;  "  would  n  't  take 
her  for  a  present, — fact, — I  've  seen,  now." 


I/O  UNCLE,  TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

"  Wal,  't  is  kinder  pity,  now,  not  to .  buy  her  with 
"her  son, — her  heart  seems  so  sot  on  him, — s'pose 
they  fling  her  in  cheap." 

"  Them  that  's  got  money  to  spend  that  ar  way, 
it  's  all  well  enough.  I  shall  bid  off  on  that  ar  boy 
for  a  plantation-hand  ; — would  n't  be  bothered  with 
her,  no  way, — not  if  they  'd  give  her  to  me,"  said 
Haley. 

"  She  '11  take  on  desp't,"  said  the  man. 

"  Nat'lly,  she  will,"  said  the  trader,  coolly. 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  busy 
bum  in  the  audience ;  and  the  auctioneer,  a  short, 
bustling,  important  fellow,  elbowed  his  way  into 
the  crowd.  The  old  woman  drew  in  her  breath,  and 
caught  instinctively  at  her  son. 

"Keep  close  to  yer  mammy,  Albert, — close, — 
dey  '11  put  us  up  togedder,"  she  said. 

"  O,  mammy,  I  'm  feard  they  won't,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Dey  must,  child  ;  I  can 't  live,  no  ways,  if  they 
don't,"  said  the  old  creature,  vehemently. 

The  stentorian  tones  of  the  auctioneer,  calling 
out  to  clear  the  way,  now  announced  that  the  sale 
was  about  to  commence.  A  place  was  cleared,  and 
the  bidding  began.  The  different  men  on  the  list 
were  soon  knocked  off  at  prices  which  showed  a 
pretty  brisk  demand  in  the  market ;  two  of  them 
fell  to  Haley. 

"  Come,  now,  young  un,"  said  the  auctioneer, 
giving  the  boy  a  touch  with  his  hammer,  "  be  up 
and  show  your  springs,  now." 

"  Put  us  two  up  togedder,  togedder, — do  please, 
Mas'r,"  said  the  old  woman,  holding  fast  to  her  boy. 

"  Be  off,"  said  the  man,  gruffly,  pushing  her  hands 
away  ;  "  you  come  last.  Now,  darkey,  spring  ;  "  and, 
with  the  word,  he  pushed  the  boy  toward  the  block, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 7 1 

while  a  deep,  heavy  groan  rose  behind  him.  The 
boy  paused,  and  looked  back ;  but  there  was  no  time 
to  stay,  and,  dashing  the  tears  from  his  large,  bright 
eyes,  he  was  up  in  a  moment. 

His  fine  figure,  alert  limbs,  and  bright  face,  raised 
an  instant  competition,  and  half  a  dozen  bids  simul- 
taneously met  the  ear  of  the  auctioneer.  Anxious, 
half-frightened,  he  looked  from  side  to  side,  as  he 
heard  the  clatter  of  contending  bids, — now  here,  now 
there, — till  the  hammer  fell.  Haley  had  got  him. 
He  was  pushed  from  the  block  toward  his  new 
master,  but  stopped  one  moment,  and  looked  back, 
when  his  poor  old  mother,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
held  out  her  shaking  hands  toward  him. 

"  Buy  me  too,  Mas'r,  for  de  dear  Lord's  sake  ! — 
buy  me, — I  shall  die  if  you  don't ! " 

"You  '11  die  if  I  do,  that 's  the  kink  of  it,"  said 
Haley, — "  no  !  "     And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

The  bidding  for  the  poor  old  creature  was  sum- 
mary. The  man  who  had  addressed  Haley,  and  who 
seemed  not  destitute  of  compassion,  bought  her  for 
a  trifle,  and  the  spectators  began  to  disperse. 

The  poor  victims  of  the  sale,  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  one  place  together  for  years,  gathered 
round  the  despairing  old  mother,  whose  agony  was 
pitiful  to  see. 

"  Could  n't  dey  leave  me  one  ?  Mas'r  allers  said 
I  should  have  one, — he  did,"  she  repeated  over  and 
over,  in  heart-broken  tones. 

"  Trust  in  the  Lord,  Aunt  Hagar,"  said  the  oldest 
of  the  men,  sorrowfully. 

"  What  good  will  it  do  ?  "  said  she,  sobbing  pas- 
sionately. 

"  Mother,  mother, — don't !  don't !  "  said  the  boy. 
"  They  say  you  's  got  a  good  master." 

r3 


I72  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  S    OR, 

"  I  don't  care, — I  don't  care.  O,  Albert !  oh,  my 
boy  !  you 's  my  last  baby.     Lord,  how  ken  I  ? " 

"  Come,  take  her  off,  can't  some  of  ye  ?  "  said 
Haley,  dryly  ;  "  don't  do  no  good  for  her  to  go  on 
that  ar  way." 

The  old  men  of  the  company,  partly  by  persua- 
sion and  partly  by  force,  loosed  the  poor  creature's 
last  despairing  hold,  and,  as  they  led  her  off  to  her 
new  master's  wagon,  strove  to  comfort  her. 

"  Now  !  "  said  Haley,  pushing  his  three  purchases 
together,  and  producing  a  bundle  of  handcuffs,  which 
he  proceeded  to  put  on  their  wrists  ;  and  fastening 
each  handcuff  to  a  long  chain,  he  drove  them  before 
him  to  the  jail. 

A  few  days  saw  Haley,  with  his  possessions, 
safely  deposited  on  one  of  the  Ohio  boats.  It  was 
the  commencement  of  his  gang,  to  be  augmented, 
as  the  boat  moved  on,  by  various  other  merchandise 
of  the  same  kind,  which  he,  or  his  agent,  had  stored 
for  him  in  various  points  along  shore. 

The  La  Belle  Riviere,  as  brave  and  beautiful  a 
boat  as  ever  walked  the  waters  of  her  namesake 
river,  was  floating  gayly  down  the  stream,  under  a 
brilliant  sky,  the  stripes  and  stars  of  free  America 
waving  and  fluttering  over  head  ;  the  guards  crowded 
with  well-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen  walking  and 
enjoying  the  delightful  day.  All  was  full  of  life, 
buoyant  and  rejoicing  ; — all  but  Haley's  gang,  who 
were  stored,  with  other  freight,  on  the  lower  deck, 
and  who,  somehow,  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  their 
various  privileges,  as  they  sat  in  a  knot,  talking  to 
each  other  in  low  tones. 

"  Boys,"  said  Haley,  coming  up,  briskly,  "  I  hope 
you  keep  up  good  heart,  and  are  cheerful.  Now, 
no  sulks,  ye  see ;  keep  stiff  upper  lips,  boys  ;  do 
well  by  me,  and  I  '11  do  well  by  you." 


a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 73 

The  boys  addressed  responded  the  invariable 
Yes,  Mas'r,"  for  ages  the  watchword  of  poor 
Africa  ;  but  it  's  to  be  owned  they  did  not  look  par- 
ticularly cheerful ;  they  had  their  various  little  prej- 
udices in  favor  of  wives,  mothers,  sisters,  and  chil- 
dred,  seen  for  the  last  time, — and  though  "  they 
i  that  wasted  them  required  of  them  mirth,"  it  was 
F  not  instantly  forthcoming. 

"  I  've  got  a  wife,"  spoke  out  the  article  enumer- 
ated as  "  John,  aged  thirty,"  and  he  laid  his  chained 
hand  on  Tom's  knee, — "  and  she  don't  know  a  word 
about  this,  poor  girl !  " 

"Where  does  she  live  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  In  a  tavern  a  piece  down  here,"  said  John  ;  "  I 
wish,  now,  I  could  see  her  once  more  in  this  world," 
he  added. 

Poor  John  !  It  was  rather  natural ;  and  the  tears 
that  fell,  as  he  spoke,  came  as  naturally  as  if  he  had 
been  a  white  man.  Tom  drew  a  long  breath  from  a 
sore  heart,  and  tried,  in  his  poor  way,  to  comfort  him. 

And  over   head,  in  the    cabin,  sat   fathers    and 

mothers,  husbands  and  wives ;  and  merry,  dancing 

children  moved  round  among  them,  like   so   many 

'  little  butterflies,  and  everything  was  going  on  quite 

easy  and  comfortable. 

"  O,  mamma,"  said  a  boy,  who  had  just  come  up 
from  below,  "  there  's  a  negro  trader  on  board,  and 
he  Js  brought  four  or  five  slaves  down  there." 

"  Poor  creatures  !  "  said  the  mother,  in  a  tone 
between  grief  and  indignation. 

"  What  's  that  ? "  said  another  lady. 

"  Some  poor  slaves  below,"'  said  the  mother. 

"And  they  've  got  chains  on,"  said  the  boy. 

"  What  a  shame  to  our  country  that  such  sights 
are  to  be  seen  !  "  said  another  lady. 


174  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  O,  there  's  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on  both  sides 
of  the  subject,"  said  a  genteel  woman,  who  sat  at 
her  state-room  door  sewing,  while  her  little  girl  and 
boy  were  playing  round  her.  "  I  've  been  south, 
and  I  must  say  I  think  the  negroes  are  better  off 
than  they  would  be  to  be  free.'' 

"  In  some  respects,  some  of  them  are  well  off,  I 
grant,"  said  the  lady  to  whose  remark  she  had  an- 
swered. "  The  most  dreadful  part  of  slavery,  to  my 
mind,  is  its  outrages  on  the  feelings  and  affections, 
— the  separating  of  families,  for  example." 

"  That  is  a  bad  thing,  certainly,"  said  the  other 
lady,  holding  up  a  baby's  dress  she  had  just  com- 
pleted, and  looking  intently  on  its  trimmings  ;  "  but 
then,  I  fancy,  it  don't  occur  often." 

"  O,  it  does,"  said  the  first  lady,  eagerly  ;  "  I  've 
lived  many  years  in  Kentucky  and  Virginia  both, 
and  I  've  seen  enough  to  make  any  one's  heart  sick. 
Suppose,  ma'am,  your  two  children,  there,  should  be 
taken  from  you,  and  sold  ?  " 

"  We  can't  reason  from  our  feelings  to  those  of 
this  class  of  persons,"  said  the  other  lady,  sorting 
out  some  worsteds  on  her  lap. 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  you  can  know  nothing  of  them, 
if  you  say  so,"  answered  the  first  lady,  warmly.  "  I 
was  born  and  brought  up  among  them.  I  know 
they  do  feel,  just  as  keenly, — even  more  so,  perhaps, 
— as  we  do." 

The  lady  said  "  Indeed  !  "  yawned,  and  looked 
out  the  cabin  window,  and  finally  repeated,  for  a 
finale,  the  remark  with  which  she  had  begun, — 
"  After  all,  I  think  they  are  better  off  than  they 
would  be  to  be  free." 

"  It 's  undoubtedly  the  intention  of  Providence 
that  the  African  race  should  be  servants, — kept  in 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  1 75 

1 

a  low  condition,"  said  a  grave-looking  gentleman  in 
black,  a  clergyman,  seated  by  the  cabin  door. 
"  '  Cursed  be  Canaan  ;  a  servant  of  servants  shall 
he  be,'  the  scripture  says." 

"  I  say,  stranger,  is  that  ar  what  that  text  means  ?  " 
said  a  tall  man,  standing  by. 

"Undoubtedly.  It  pleased  Providence,  for  some 
inscrutable  reason,  to  doom  the  race  to  bondage, 
ages  ago  ;  and  we  must  not  set  up  our  opinion 
against  that." 

"  Well,  then,  we  '11  all  go  ahead  and  buy  up  nig- 
gers," said  the  man,  "  if  that  's  the  way  of  Provi- 
dence,— won  't  we,  Squire  ? "  said  he,  turning  to 
Haley,  who  had  been  standing,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  by  the  stove,  and  intently  listening  to 
the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  tall  man,  "  we  must  all  be 
resigned  to  the  decrees  of  Providence.  Niggers 
must  be  sold,  and  trucked  round,  and  kept  under; 
it 's  what  they 's  made  for.  'Pears  like  this  yer 
view  's  quite  refreshing,  an't  it,  stranger  ?  "  said  he 
to  Haley. 

"  I  never  thought  on  't,"  said  Haley.  "  I  could  n't 
have  said  as  much,  myself ;  I  ha'nt  no  laming.  I 
took  up  the  trade  just  to  make  a  living ;  if  't  an't 
right,  I  calculated  to  'pent  on  't  in  time,  ye  know." 

"  And  now  you  '11  save  yerself  the  trouble,  won't 
ye  ?  "  said  the  tall  man.  "  See  what  't  is,  now,  to 
know  scripture.  If  ye  'd  only  studied  yer  Bible,  like 
this  yer  good  man,  ye  might  have  know'd  it  before, 
and  saved  ye  a  heap  o'  trouble.  Ye  could  jist  have 
said, '  Cussed  be  ' — what 's  his  name  ? — '  and 't  would 
all  have  come  right.'  "  And  the  stranger,  who  was 
no  other  than  the  honest  drover  whom  we  intro- 
duced to  our  readers  in  the   Kentucky  tavern,   sat 


I76  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

down,  and  began  smoking,  with  a  curious  smile  on 
his  long,  dry  face. 

A  tall,  slender  young  man,  with  a  face  expressive 
of  great  feeling  and  intelligence,  here  broke  in,  and 
repeated  the  words,  "  '  All  things  whatsoever  ye 
would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so 
unto  them.'  I  suppose,"  he  added,  "  that  is  scrip- 
ture, as  much  as  '  Cursed  be  Canaan.'  " 

"Wal,  it  seems  quite  as  plain  a  text,  stranger," 
said  John  the  drover,  "  to  poor  fellows  like  us, 
now  ;  "  and  John  smoked  on  like  a  volcano. 

The  young  man  paused,  looked  as  if  he  was  going 
to  say  more,  when  suddenly  the  boat  stopped,  and 
the  company  made  the  usual  steamboat  rush,  to  see 
where  they  were  landing. 

"  Both  them  ar  chaps  parsons  ?  "  said  John  to 
one  of  the  men,  as  they  were  going  out. 

The  man  nodded. 

As  the  boat  stopped,  a  black  woman  came  run- 
ning wildly  up  the  plank,  darted  into  the  crowd, 
flew  up  to  where  the  slave  gang  sat,  and  threw  her 
arms  round  that  unfortunate  piece  of  merchandise 
before  enumerated — "John,  aged  thirty,"  and  with 
sobs  and  tears  bemoaned  him  as  her  husband. 

But  what  needs  tell  the  story,  told  too  oft, — every 
day  told, — of  heart-strings  rent  and  broken, — the 
weak  broken  and  torn  for  the  profit  and  conven- 
ience of  the  strong  !  It  needs  not  to  be  told ; — 
every  day  is  telling  it, — telling  it,  too,  in  the  ear  of 
One  who  is  not  deaf,  though  he  be  long  silent. 

The  young  man  who  had  spoken  for  the  cause  of 
humanity  and  God  before  stood  with  folded  arms, 
looking  on  this  scene.  He  turned,  and  Haley  was 
standing  at  his  side.  "  My  friend,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing with  thick  utterance,  "  how  can  you,  how  dare 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 77 

you,  carry  on  a  trade  like  this  ?  Look  at  those  poor 
creatures  !  Here  I  am,  rejoicing  in  my  heart  that 
I  am  going  home  to  my  wife  and  child  ;  and  the 
same  bell  which  is  a  signal  to  carry  me  onward 
towards  them  will  part  this  poor  man  and  his  wife 
forever.  Depend  upon  it,  God  will  bring  you  into 
judgment  for  this." 

The  trader  turned  away  in  silence. 

"  I  say,  now,"  said  the  drover,  touching  his 
elbow,  "  there  's  differences  in  parsons,  an't  there  ? 
*  Cussed  be  Canaan '  don't  seem  to  go  down  with 
this  'un,  does  it  ?  " 

Haley  gave  an  uneasy  growl. 
'  "  And  that  ar  an't  the  worst  on  't,"   said  John  ; 
"  mabbe  it  won't  go  down   with  the  Lord,  neither, 
when  ye  come  to  settle  with   him,  one  o'  these  days, 
as  all  on  us  must,  I  reckon." 

Haley  walked  reflectively  to  the  other  end  of  the 
boat. 

"  If  I  make  pretty  handsomely  on  one  or  two 
next  gangs,"  he  thought,  "  I  reckon  I  '11  stop  off  this 
yer ;  it 's  really  getting  dangerous."  And  he  took 
out  his  pocket-book,  and  began  adding  over  his  ac- 
counts,— a  process  which  many  gentlemen  besides 
Mr.  Haley  have  found  a  specific  for  an  uneasy  con- 
science. 

The  boat  swept  proudly  away  from  the  shore,  and 
all  went  on  merrily,  as  before.  Men  talked,  and 
loafed,  and  read,  and  smoked.  Women  sewed,  and 
children  played,  and  the  boat  passed  on  her  way. 

One  day,  when  she  lay  to  for  a  while  at  a  small 
town  in  Kentucky,  Haley  went  up  into  the  place  on 
a  little  matter  of  business. 

Tom,  whose  fetters  did  not  prevent  his  taking  a 
moderate  circuit,  had  drawn   near  the   side  of  the 


178  UNCLE  tom's  cabin:  or, 

boat,  and  stood  listlessly  gazing  over  the  railings. 
After  a  time,  he  saw  the  trader  returning,  with  an 
alert  step,  in  company  with  a  colored  woman,  bear- 
ing in  her  arms  a  young  child.  She  was  dressed 
quite  respectably,  and  a  colored  man  followed  her, 
bringing  along  a  small  trunk.  The  woman  came 
cheerfully  onward,  talking,  as  she  came,  with  the 
man  who  bore  her  trunk,  and  so  passed  up  the 
plank  into  the  boat.  The  bell  rung,  the  steamer 
whizzed,  the  engine  groaned  and  coughed,  and  away 
swept  the  boat  down  the  river. 

The  woman  walked  forward  among  the  boxes  and 
bales  of  the  lower  deck,  and,  sitting  down,  busied 
herself  with  chirruping  to  her  baby. 

Haley  made  a  turn  or  two  about  the  boat,  and 
then,  coming  up,  seated  himself  near  her,  and  be- 
gan saying  something  to  her  in  an  indifferent  under- 
tone. 

Tom  soon  noticed  a  heavy  cloud  passing  over  the 
woman's  brow  ;  and  that  she  answered  rapidly,  and 
with  great  vehemence. 

"  I  don't  believe  it, — I  won't  believe  it !  "  he  heard 
her  say.     "  You  're  jist  a  foolin  with  me." 

"  If  you  won't  believe  it,  look  here  !  "  said  the 
man,  drawing  out  a  paper  :  "  this  yer  's  the  bill  of 
sale,  and  there  's  your  master's  name  to  it ;  and  I 
paid  down  good  solid  cash  for  it,  too,  I  can  tell  you, 
— so,  now  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  Mas'r  would  cheat  me  so ;  it 
can't  be  true  !  "  said  the  woman,  with  increasing 
agitation. 

"  You  can  ask  any  of  these  men  here,  that  can 
read  writing.  Here  !  "  he  said,  to  a  man  that  was 
passing  by,  "jist  read  this  yer,  won't  you!  This 
yer  gal  won't  believe  me,  when  I  tell  her  what 't  is." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 79 

''Why,  it's  a  bill  of  sale,  signed  by  John  Fos- 
dick,"  said  the  man,  "  making  over  to  you  the  girl 
Lucy  and  her  child.  It  's  all  straight  enough,  for 
aught  I  see." 

The  woman's  passionate  exclamations  collected 
a  crowd  around  her,  and  the  trader  briefly  explained 
to  them  the  cause  of  the  agitation. 

"  He  told  me  that  I  was  going  down  to  Louis- 
ville, to  hire  out  as  cook  to  the  same  tavern  where 
my  husband  works, — that  s  what  Mas'r  told  me,  his 
own  self ;  and  I  can't  believe  he  'd  lie  to  me,"  said 
the  woman. 

"  But  he  has  sold  you,  my  poor  woman,  there  s 
no  doubt  about  it,"  said  a  good-natured  looking 
man,  who  had  been  examining  the  papers  ;  "  he 
has  done  it,  and  no  mistake." 

"Then  it's  no  account  talking,"  said  the  woman, 
suddenly  growing  quite  calm ;  and,  clasping  her 
child  tighter  in  her  arms,  she  sat  down  on  her  box, 
turned  her  back  round,  and  gazed  listlessly  into  the 
river. 

"  Going  to  take  it  easy,  after  all ! "  said  the 
trader.     "  Gal  's  got  grit,  I  see." 

The  woman  looked  calm,  as  the  boat  went  on  ; 
and  a  beautiful  soft  summer  breCze  passed  like  a 
compassionate  spirit  over  her  head, — the  gentle 
breeze,  that  never  inquires  whether  the  brow  is 
dusky  or  fair  that  it  fans.  And  she  saw  sunshine 
sparkling  on  the  water,  in  golden  ripples,  and  heard 
gay  voices,  full  of  ease  and  pleasure,  talking  around 
her  everywhere  ;  but  her  heart  lay  as  if  a  great  stone 
had  fallen  on  it.  Her  baby  raised  himself  up 
against  her,  and  stroked  her  cheeks  with  his  little 
hands ;  and,  springing  up  and  down,  crowing  and 
chatting,  seemed   determined  to  arouse  her.     She 


180  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

strained  him  suddenly  and  tightly  in  her  arms,  Vnd 
slowly  one  tear  after  another  fell  on  his  wondering, 
unconscious  face  ;  and  gradually  she  seemed,  and 
little  by  little,  to  grow  calmer,  and  busied  herself 
with  tending  and  nursing  him. 

The  child,  a  boy  of  ten  months,  was  uncommonly 
large  and  strong  of  his  age,  and  very  vigorous  in 
his  limbs.  Never,  for  a  moment,  still,  he  kept  his 
mother  constantly  busy  in  holding  him,  and  guard- 
ing his  springing  activity. 

"  That  's  a  fine  chap ! "  said  a  man,  suddenly 
stopping  opposite  to  him,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.     "  How  old  is  he  ?  " 

"  Ten  months  and  a  half,"  said  the  mother. 

The  man  whistled  to  the  boy,  and  offered  him 
part  of  a  stick  of  candy,  which  he  eagerly  grabbed 
at,  and  very  soon  had  it  in  a  baby's  general  deposi- 
tory, to  wit,  his  mouth. 

"  Rum  fellow  !  "  said  the  man.  "  Knows  what 's 
what ! "  and  he  whistled,  and  walked  on.  When 
he  had  got  to  the  other  side  of  the  boat,  he  came 
across  Haley,  who  was  smoking  on  top  of  a  pile  of 
boxes. 

The  stranger,  produced  a  match,  and  lighted  a 
cigar,  saying,  as  he  did  so, 

"  Decentish  kind  o'  wench  you  Ve  got  round  there, 
stranger." 

"  Why,  I  reckon  she  is  toPable  fair,"  said  Haley, 
blowing  the  smoke  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Taking  her  down  south  ?  "  said  the  man. 

Haley  nodded,  and  smoked  on. 

"  Plantation  hand  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"  Wal,"  said  Haley,  "  I  'm  nllin'  out  an  order  for 
a  plantation,  and  I  think  I  shall  put  her  in.  They 
telled  me  she  was  a  good  cook  ;   and  they  can  use 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  l8l 

her  for  that,  or  set  her  at  the  cotton-picking.  She  's 
got  the  right  fingers  for  that ;  I  looked  at  'em.  Sell 
well,  either  way  ;  "  and  Haley  resumed  his  cigar. 

"  They  won't  want  the  young  'un  on  a  plantation," 
said  the  man. 

"  I  shall  sell  him,  first  chance  I  find,"  said  Haley, 
lighting  another  cigar. 

"  S'pose  you  'd  be  selling  him  tol'able  cheap," 
said  the  stranger,  mounting  the  pile  of  boxes,  and 
sitting  down  comfortably. 

"  Don't  know  'bout  that,"  said  Haley  ;  "  he  's  a 
pretty  smart  young  'un, — straight,  fat,  strong  ;  flesh 
as  hard  as  a  brick  !  " 

"  Very  true,  but  then  there  's  all  the  bother  and 
expense  of  raisin'." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Haley  ;  "  they  is  raised  as 
easy  as  any  kind  of  critter  there  is  going  ;  they  an't 
a  bit  more  trouble  than  pups.  This  yer  chap  will 
be  running  all  round,  in  a  month." 

"  I  've  got  a  good  place  for  raisin',  and  I  thought 
of  takin'  in  a  little  more  stock,"  said  the  man. 
"  One  cook  lost  a  young  'un  last  week, — got  drownded 
in  a  wash-tub,  while  she  was  a  hangin'  out  clothes, 
— and  I  reckon  it  would  be  well  enough  to  set  her 
to  raisin'  this  yer." 

Haley  and  the  stranger  smoked  a  while  in  silence, 
neither  seeming  willing  to  broach  the  test  question 
of  the  interview.     At  last  the  man  resumed  : 

"  You  would  n't  think  of  wantin'  more  than  ten 
dollars  for  that  ar  chap,  seeing  you  must  get  him  off 
yer  hand,  any  how  ?  " 

Haley  shook  his  head,  and  spit  impressively. 

"That  won't  do,  no  ways,"  he  said,  and  began  his 
smoking  again. 

"  Well,  stranger,  what  will  you  take  ? " 


l82  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"Well,  now,"  said  Haley,  "  I  could raise  that  ar 
chap  myself,  or  get  him  raised ;  he  's  oncommon 
likely  and  healthy,  and  he  'd  fetch  a  hundred  dollars, 
six  months  hence  ;  and  in  a  year  or  two,  he  'd  bring 
two  hundred,  if  I  had  him  in  the  right  spot ; — so  I 
shan't  take  a  cent  less  nor  fifty  for  him  now." 

"  O,  stranger  !  that 's  rediculous,  altogether,"  said 
the  man. 

"  Fact !  "  said  Haley,  with  a  decisive  nod  of  his 
head. 

"  I  '11  give  thirty  for  him,"  said  the  stranger,  "but 
not  a  cent  more." 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  ye  what  I  will  do,"  said  Haley, 
spitting  again,  with  renewed  decision.  "  I  '11  split 
the  difference,  and  say  forty-five ;  and  that 's  the 
most  I  will  do." 

"  Well,  agreed  !  "  said  the  man,  after  an   interval. 

"  Done  !  "  said  Haley.     "  Where  do  you    land  ?  " 

"  At  Louisville,"  said  the  man. 

"  Louisville,"  said  Haley.  "Very  fair,  we  get 
there  about  dusk.  Chap  will  be  asleep, — all  fair, — 
get  him  off  quietly,  and  no  screaming, — happens 
beautiful, — I  like  to  do  everything  quietly, — I  hates 
all  kind  of  agitation  and  fluster."  And  so,  after  a 
transfer  of  certain  bills  had  passed  from  the  man's 
pocket-book  to  the  trader's,  he  resumed  his  cigar. 

It  was  a  bright,  tranquil  evening  when  the  boat 
stopped  at  the  wharf  at  Louisville.  The  woman  had 
been  sitting  with  her  baby  in  her  arms,  now  wrapped 
in  a  heavy  sleep.  When  she  heard  the  name  of  the 
place  called  out,  she  hastily  laid  the  child  down  in  a 
little  cradle  formed  by  the  hollow  among  the  boxes, 
first  carefully  spreading  under  it  her  cloak ;  and 
then  she  sprung  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  in  hopes 
that,  among  the  various  hotel-waiters  who  thronged 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  183 

the  wharf,  she  might  see  her  husband.  In  this  hope, 
she  pressed  forward  to  the  front  rails,  and,  stretching 
far  over  them,  strained  her  eyes  intently  on  the  mov- 
ing heads  on  the  shore,  and  the  crowd  pressed  in 
between  her  and  the  child. 

"  Now  's  your  time,"  said  Haley,  taking  the  sleep- 
ing child  up,  and  handing  him  to  the  stranger. 
"  Don't  wake  him  up,  and  set  him  to  crying,  now  ; 
it  would  make  a  devil  of  a  fuss  with  the  gal."  The 
man  took  the  bundle  carefully,  and  was  soon  lost  in 
the  crowd  that  went  up  the  wharf. 

When  the>  boat,  creaking,  and  groaning,  and  puff- 
ing, had  loosed  from  the  wharf,  and  was  beginning 
slowly  to  strain  herself  along,  the  woman  returned 
to  her  old  seat.  The  trader  was  sitting  there, — the 
child  was  gone  ! 

"  Why,  why, — where  ?  "  she  began,  in  bewildered 
surprise. 

"  Lucy,"  said  the  trader,  "  your  child  's  gone  ;  you 
may  as  well  know  it  first  as  last.  You  see,  I  know'd 
you  could  n't  take  him  down  south  ;  and  I  got  a 
chance  to  sell  him  to  a  first-rate  family,  that  '11  raise 
him  better  than  you  can." 

The  trader  had  arrived  at  that  stage  of  Christian 
and  political  perfection  which  has  been  recom- 
mended by  some  preachers  and  politicians  of  the 
north,  lately,  in  which  he  had  completely  overcome 
every  humane  weakness  and  prejudice.  His  heart 
was  exactly  where  yours,  sir,  and  mine  could  be 
brought,  with  proper  effort  and  cultivation.  The  wild 
look  of  anguish  and  utter  despair  that  the  woman  cast 
on  him  might  have  disturbed  one  less  practised  ;  but 
he  was  used  to  it.  He  had  seen  that  same  look 
hundreds  of  times.  You  can  get  used  to  such 
things,  too,  my  friend  ;  and  it  is  the  great  object  of 


184  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

recent  efforts  to  make  our  whole  northern  commu- 
nity used  to  them,  for  the  glory  of  the  Union.  So 
the  trader  only  regarded  the  mortal  anguish  which 
he  saw  working  in  those  dark  features,  those 
clenched  hands,  and  suffocating  breathings,  as 
necessary  incidents  of  the  trade,  and  merely  cal- 
culated whether  she  was  going  to  scream,  and  get 
up  a  commotion  on  the  boat ;  for,  like  other  sup- 
porters of  our  peculiar  institution,  he  decidedly 
disliked  agitation. 

But  the  woman  did  not  scream.  The  shot  had 
passed  too  straight  and  direct  through  the  heart,  for 
cry  or  tear. 

Dizzily  she  sat  down.  Her  slack  hands  fell  life- 
less by  her  side.  Her  eyes  looked  straight  forward, 
but  she  saw  nothing.  All  the  noise  and  hum  of  the 
boat,  the  groaning  of  the  machinery,  mingled 
dreamily  to  her  bewildered  ear  ;  and  the  poor,  dumb- 
stricken  heart  had  neither  cry  nor  tear  to  show  for 
its  utter  misery.     She  was  quite  calm. 

The  trader,  who,  considering  his  advantages,  was 
almost  as  humane  as  some  of  our  politicians,  seemed 
to  feel  called  on  to  administer  such  consolation  as 
the  case  admitted  of. 

"  I  know  this  yer  comes  kinder  hard,  at  first, 
Lucy,"  said  he ;  "  but  such  a  smart,  sensible  gal  as 
you  are,  won't  give  way  to  it.  You  see  it 's  necessary, 
and  can't  be  helped !  " 

"  O  !  don't,  Mas'r,  don't  !  "  said  the  woman,  with 
a  voice  like  one  that  is  smothering. 

"  You  're  a  smart  wench,  Lucy,"  he  persisted  ;  "  I 
mean  to  do  well  by  ye,  and  get  ye  a  nice  place  down 
river  ;  and  you  '11  soon  get  another  husband, — such 
a  likely  gal  as  you — " 

"  O  !  Mas'r,  if  you  only  won't  talk  to   me  now," 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 8$ 

said  the  woman,  in  a  voice  of  such  quick  and  living 
anguish  that  the  trader  felt  that  there  was  something 
at  present  in  the  case  beyond  his  style  of  operation. 
He  got  up,  and  the  woman  turned  away,  and  buried 
her  head  in  her  cloak. 

The  trader  walked  up  and  down  for  a  time,  and 
occasionally  stopped  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Takes  it  hard,  rather,"  he  soliloquized,  "  but 
quiet,  tho' ; — let  her  sweat  a  while  ;  she  '11  come 
right,  by  and  by  !  " 

Tom  had  watched  the  whole  transaction  from  first 
to  last,  and  had  a  perfect  understanding  of  its  re- 
sults. To  him,  it  looked  like  something  unutterably 
horrible  and  cruel,  because,  poor,  ignorant  black 
soul !  he  had  not  learned  to  generalize,  and  to  take 
enlarged  views.  If  he  only  been  instructed  by  cer- 
tain ministers  of  Christianity,  he  might  have  thought 
better  of  it,  and  seen  in  it  an  every-day  incident  of 
a  lawful  trade  ;  a  trade  which  is  the  vital  support  of 
an  institution  which  an  American  divine  *  tells  us  has 
"  no  evils  but  such  as  are  insepai'able  from  any  other  re- 
lations in  social  and  domestic  life"  But  Tom,  as  we 
see,  being  a  poor  ignorant  fellow,  whose  reading  had 
been  confined  entirely  to  the  New  Testament,  could 
not  comfort  and  solace  himself  with  views  like  these. 
His  very  soul  bled  within  him  for  what  seemed  to 
him  the  wrongs  of  the  poor  suffering  thing  that  lay 
like  a  crushed  reed  on  the  boxes ;  the  feeling, 
living,  bleeding,  yet  immortal  thing,  which  Ameri- 
can state  law  coolly  classes  with  the  bundles,  and 
bales,  and  boxes,  among  which  she  is  lying. 

Tom  drew  near,  and  tried  to  say  something  ;  but 
she  only  groaned.  Honestly,  and  with  tears  run- 
ning down  his  own  cheeks,  he  spoke  of  a  heart  of 

*  Dr.  Joel  Parker,  of  Philadelphia. 


1 86  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :   OR, 

love  in  the  skies,  of  a  pitying  Jesus,  and  an  eternal 
home  ;  but  the  ear  was  deaf  with  anguish,  and  the 
palsied  heart  could  not  feel. 

Night  came  on, — night  calm,  unmoved,  and  glo- 
rious, shining  down  with  her  innumerable  and 
solemn  angel  eyes,  twinkling,  beautiful,  but  silent. 
There  was  no  speech  nor  language,  no  pity- 
ing voice  or  helping  hand,  from  that  distant  sky. 
One  after  another,  the  voices  of  business  or  pleasure 
died  away;  all  on  the  boat  were  sleeping,  and  the 
ripples  at  the  prow  were  plainly  heard.  Tom 
stretched  himself  out  on  a  box,  and  there,  as  he  lay, 
he  heard,  ever  and  anon,  a  smothered  sob  or  cry 
from  the  prostrate  creature, — "  O  !  what  shall  I  do  ? 
O  Lord  !  O  good  Lord,  do  help  me  !  "  and  so, 
ever  and  anon,  until  the  murmur  died  away  in 
silence. 

At  midnight,  Tom  waked,  with  a  sudden  start. 
Something  black  passed  quickly  by  him  to  the  side 
of  the  boat,  and  he  heard  a  splash  in  the  water.  No 
one  else  saw  or  heard  anything.  He  raised  his 
head, — the  woman's  place  was  vacant !  He  got  up, 
and  sought  about  him  in  vain.  The  poor  bleeding 
heart  was  still,  at  last,  and  the  river  rippled  and 
dimpled  just  as  brightly  as  if  it  had  not  closed  above 
it. 

Patience  !  patience  !  ye  whose  hearts  swell  indig- 
nant at  wrongs  like  these.  Not  one  throb  of  anguish, 
not  one  tear  of  the  oppressed,  is  forgotten  by  the 
Man  of  Sorrows,  the  Lord  of  Glory.  In  his  patient, 
generous  bosom  he  bears  the  anguish  of  a  world. 
Bear  thou,  like  him,  in  patience,  and  labor  in  love ; 
for  sure  as  he  is  God,  "  the  year  of  his  redeemed 
shall  come." 

The  trader  waked  up  bright  and  early,  and  came 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  187 

out  to  see  to  his  live  stock.  It  was  now  his  turn  to 
look  about  in  perplexity. 

"  Where  alive  is  that  gal  ? "  he  said  to  Tom. 

Tom,  who  had  learned  the  wisdom  of  keeping 
counsel,  did  not  feel  called  on  to  state  his  obser- 
vations and  suspicions,  but  said  he  did  not  know. 

"  She  surely  could  n't  have  got  off  in  the  night  at 
any  of  the  landings,  for  I  was  awake,  and  on  the 
look-out,  whenever  the  boat  stopped.  I  never  trust 
these  yer  things  to  other  folks." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  Tom  quite  confi- 
dentially, as  if  it  was  something  that  would  be 
specially  interesting  to  him.     Tom  made  no  answer. 

The  trader  searched  the  boat  from  stem  to  stern, 
among  boxes,  bales  and  barrels,  around  the  machin- 
ery, by  the  chimneys,  in  vain. 

"Now,  I  say,  Tom,  be  fair  about  this  yer,"  he 
said,  when,  after  a  fruitless  search,  he  came  where 
Tom  was  standing.  "  You  know  something  about 
it,  now.  Don't  tell  me, — I  know  you  do.  I  saw 
the  gal  stretched  out  here  about  ten  o'clock,  and 
ag'in  at  twelve,  and  ag'in  between  one  and  two  ;  and 
then  at  four  she  was  gone,  and  you  was  a  sleeping 
right  there  all  the  time.  Now,  you  know  something, 
—you  can't  help  it." 

"  Well,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "  towards  morning 
something  brushed  by  me,  and  I  kinder  half  woke ; 
and  then  I  hearn  a  great  splash,  and  then  I  clare 
woke  up,  and  the  gal  was  gone.  That 's  all  I  know 
on  't." 

The  trader  was  not  shocked  nor  amazed ;  .  be- 
cause, as  we  said  before,  he  was  used  to  a  great 
many  things  that  you  are  not  used  to.  Even  the 
awful  presence  of  Death  struck  no  solemn  chill 
upon  him.  He  had  seen  Death  many  times, — met 
M 


1 88  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

him  in  the  way  of  trade,  and  got  acquainted  with 
him, — and  he  only  thought  of  him  as  a  hard  cus- 
tomer, that  embarrassed  his  property  operations 
very  unfairly;  and  so  he  only  swore  that  the  gal 
was  a  baggage,  and  that  he  was  devilish  unlucky, 
and  that,  if  things  went  on  in  this  way,  he  should 
not  make  a  cent  on  the  trip.  In  short,  he  seemed 
to  consider  himself  an  ill-used  man,  decidedly  ;  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it,  as  the  woman  had  escaped 
into  a  state  which  never  will  give  up  a  fugitive, — 
not  even  at  the  demand  of  the  whole  glorious  Union. 
The  trader,  therefore,  sat  discontentedly  down,  with 
his  little  account-book,  and  put  down  the  missing 
body  and  soul  under  the  head  of  losses  ! 

"  He  's  a  shocking  creature,  is  n't  he, — this  trader  ? 
so  unfeeling  !     It  's  dreadful,  really !  " 

"  O,  but  nobody  thinks  anything  of  these  traders  ! 
They  are  universally  despised, — never  received  into 
any  decent  society." 

But  who,  sir,  makes  the  trader  ?  Who  is  most  to 
blame  ?  The  enlightened,  cultivated,  intelligent 
man,  who  supports  the  system  of  which  the  trader 
is  the  inevitable  result,  or  the  poor  trader  himself  ? 
You  make  the  public  sentiment  that  calls  for  his 
trade,  that  debauches  and  depraves  him,  till  he  feels 
no  shame  in  it ;  and  in  what  are  you  better  than  he  ? 

Are  you  educated  and  he  ignorant,  you  high  and 
he  low,  you  refined  and  he  coarse,  you  talented  and 
he  simple  ? 

In  the  day  of  a  future  Judgment,  these  very  con- 
siderations may  make  it  more  tolerable  for  him  than 
for  you. 

In  concluding  these  little  incidents  of  lawful  trade, 
we  must  beg  the  world  not  to  think  that  American 
legislators    are   entirely   destitute    of   humanity,  as 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 09 

might,  perhaps,  be  unfairly  inferred  from  the  great: 
efforts  made  in  our  national  body  to  protect  and. 
perpetuate  this  species  of  traffic. 

Who  does  not  know  how  our  great  men  are  out- 
doing themselves,  in  declaiming  against  the  fcrdgn 
slave-trade.  There  are  a  perfect  host  of  Clarksons 
and  Wilberforces  risen  up  among  us  on  that  sub- 
ject, most  edifying  to  hear  and  behold.  Trading 
negroes  from  Africa,  dear  reader,  is  so  horrid !  It 
is  not  to  be  thought  of  !  But  trading  them  from 
Kentucky, — that  's  quite  another  thing  ! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  QUAKER  SETTLEMENT. 

A  quiet   scene  now    rises   before  us.     A  large,. 
roomy,  neatly-painted  kitchen,  its  yellow  floor  glossy 
and  smooth,  and  without  a  particle  of  dust ;  a  neat,, 
well-blacked    cooking-stove ;    rows    of    shining  tin, 
suggestive    of   unmentionable   good    things    to  the 
appetite;  glossy  green  wood  chairs,    old  and*  firm  ; 
a  small  flag-bottomed  rocking-chair    with  a  patch- 
work cushion   in  it,  neatly  contrived  out  of  small 
pieces  of  different   colored    woollen  goods,    and  a. 
larger  sized  one,  motherly  and  old,  whose  wide  arms- 
breathed  hospitable  invitation,  seconded  by  the  sol- 
icitation of  its  feather  cushions, — a  real  comfortable, 
persuasive  old  chair,  and  worth,  in  the  way  of  hon- 
est, homely   enjoyment,  a  dozen  of   your  plush  or 
brochetelle  drawing-room  gentry;  and  in  the  chair, 
gently  swaying  back  and  forward,  her  eyes  bent  on 
some  fine  sewing,  sat  our  old  friend   Eliza.     Yes, 
there  she  is,  paler  and  thinner  than  in  her  Kentucky 
home,  with  a  world  of  quiet  sorrow  lying  under  the: 


190  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

shadow  of  her  long  eyelashes,  and  marking  the 
•outline  of  her  gentle  mouth !  It  was  plain  to  see 
how  old  and  firm  the  girlish  heart  was  grown  under 
the  discipline  of  heavy  sorrow ;  and  when,  anon,  her 
large  dark  eye  was  raised  to  follow  the  gambols  of 
her  little  Harry,  who  was  sporting,  like  some  tropical 
butterfly,  hither  and  thither  over  the  floor,  she 
showed  a  depth  of  firmness  and  steady  resolve  that 
was  never  there  in  her  earlier  and  happier  days. 

By  her  side  sat  a  woman  with  a  bright  tin  pan  in 
her  lap,  into  which  she  was  carefully  sorting  some 
dried  peaches.  She  might  be  fifty-five  or  sixty  ;  but 
hers  was  one  of  those  faces  that  time  seems  to  touch 
only  to  brighten  and  adorn.  The  snowy  lisse  crape 
cap,  made  after  the  strait  Quaker  pattern, — the  plain 
white  muslin  handkerchief,  lying  in  placid  folds 
across  her  bosom, — the  drab  shawl  and  dress, — 
showed  at  once  the  community  to  which  she  be- 
longed. Her  face  was  round  and  rosy,  with  a 
healthful  downy  softness,  suggestive  of  a  ripe  peach. 
Her  hair,  partially  silvered  by  age,  was  parted 
smoothly  back  from  a  high  placid  forehead,  on  which 
time  had  written  no  inscription,  except  peace  on 
earth,  good  will  to  men,  and  beneath  shone  a  large 
pair  of  clear,  honest,  loving  brown  eyes  ;  you  only 
needed  to  look  straight  into  them,  to  feel  that  you 
saw  to  the  bottom  of  a  heart  as  good  and  true  as 
ever  throbbed  in  woman's  bosom.  So  much  has 
been  said  and  sung  of  beautiful  young  girls,  why  don't 
somebody  wake  up  to  the  beauty  of  old  women  ? 
If  any  want  to  get  up  an  inspiration  under  this  head 
we  refer  them  to  our  good  friend  Rachel  Halliday, 
just  as  she  sits  there  in  her  little  rocking-chair.  It 
had  a  turn  for  quacking  and  squeaking, — that  chair 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  19I 

had, — either  from  having  taken  cold  in  early  life,  or 
from  some  asthmatic  affection,  or  perhaps  from  nerv- 
ous derangement;  but,  as  she  gently  swung  back- 
ward and  forward,  the  chair  kept  up  a  kind  of  sub- 
dued "  creechy  crawchy,"  that  would  have  been  in- 
tolerable in  any  other  chair.  But  old  Simeon  Halli- 
nay  often  declared  it  was  as  good  as  any  music  to 
him,  and  the  children  all  avowed  that  they  would  n't. 
miss  of  hearing  mother's  chair  for  anything  in  the 
world.  For  why  ?  for  twenty  years  or  more,  nothing 
but  loving  words,  and  gentle  moralities,  and  motherly 
loving  kindness,  had  come  from  that  chair  ; — head- 
aches and  heartaches  innumerable  had  been  cured 
there, — difficulties  spiritual  and  temporal  solved 
there, — all  bv  one  good,  loving  woman,  God  bless- 
her! 

"  And  so  thee   still  thinks  oi  going  to  Canada, 
Eliza  ? "  she  said,  as  she  was   quietly  looking  over" 
her  peaches. 

"  \es,  ma'am,"  said  Eliza,  firmly.     "  I   must  go 
onward.     I  dare  not  stop." 

"And  what '11   tfiee    do,  when   thee  gets  there? 
*ihee  must  think  about  that,  my  daughter." 

"  My  daughter,"  came  naturally  from  the  lips  of 
Rachel   Halliday ;  for  hers   was  just  the  face  and  • 
form  that  made  "  mother  "  seem  the  most  natural 
word  in  the  world, 

Eliza's   hands   trembled,  and  some  tears  fell  on 
her  fine  work  ;  but  she  answered,  firmly, 

"  I  shall  do — anything  I  can  find.     I  hope  I  can 
find  something." 

"  Thee  knows  thee  can  stay  here,  as  long  as  thee: 
pleases,"  said  Rachel. 

"  O,  thank  you,"  said  Eliza,  "  but" — she  pointed. 
to  Harry — "  I  can'tsieep  nights  ;   I  can't  rest.     Last; 


192  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

night  I  dreamed  I   saw  that  man  coming  into  the 
yard,"  she  said,  shuddering. 

"  Poor  child  ! "  said  Rachel,  wiping  her  eyes ; 
"but  thee  mustn't  feel  so.  The  Lord  hath  ordered 
it  so  that  never  hath  a  fugitive  been  stolen  from  our 
village.  I  trust  thine  will  not  be  the  first." 
•  The  door  here  opened,  and  a  little  short,  round, 
pincushiony  woman  stood  at  the  door,  with  a  cheery, 
blooming  face,  like  a  ripe  apple.  She  was  dressed, 
like  Rachel,  in  sober  gray,  with  the  muslin  folded 
neatly  across  her  round,  plump  little  chest. 

"  Ruth  Stedman,"  said  Rachel,  coming  joyfully 
forward ;  "  how  is  thee,  Ruth  ? "  she  said,  heartily 
taking  both  her  hands. 

"  Nicely,"  said  Ruth,  taking  off  her  little  drab 
bonnet,  and  dusting  it  with  her  handkerchief,  dis- 
playing, as  she  did  so,  a  round  little  head,  on  which 
the  Quaker  cap  sat  with  a  sort  of  jaunty  air,  despite 
all  the  stroking  and  patting  of  the  small  fat  hands, 
which  were  busily  applied  to  arranging  it.  Certain 
stray  locks  of  decidedly  curly  hair,  too,  had  escaped 
here  and  there,  and  had  to  be  coaxed  and  cajoled 
into  their  place  again ;  and  then  the  new  comer, 
who  might  have  been  five-and-twenty,  turned  from 
the  small  looking-glass,  before  which  she  had  been 
making  these  arrangements,  and  looked  well  pleased, 
— as  most  people  who  looked  at  her  might  have 
been, — for  she  was  decidedly  a  wholesome,  whole- 
hearted, chirruping  little  woman,  as  ever  gladdened 
man's  heart  withal. 

"  Ruth,  this  friend  is  Eliza  Harris  ;  and  this  is 
the  little  boy  I  told  thee  of." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  Eliza, — very,"  said  Ruth, 
shaking  hands,  as  if  Eliza  were  an  old  friend  she 
had   long  been   expecting ;   "  and  this   is   thy  dear 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1 93 

boy, — I  brought  a  cake  for  him,"  she  said,  holding 
out  a  little  heart  to  the  boy,  who  came  up,  gazing 
through  his  curls,  and  accepted  it  shyly. 

"  Where  's  thy  baby,  Ruth  ?  "  said  Rachel. 

"  O,  he 's  coming ;  but  thy  Mary  caught  him  as 
I  came  in,  and  ran  of!  with  him  to  the  barn,  to  show 
him  to  the  children." 

At  this  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  Mary,  an 
honest,  rosy-looking  girl,  with  large  brown  eyes,  like 
her  mother's,  came  in  with  the  baby. 

"  Ah  !  ha  !  "  said  Rachel,  coming  up,  and  taking 
the  great,  white,  fat  fellow  in  her  arms  ;  "  how  good 
he  looks,  and  how  he  does  grow  !  " 

"  To  be  sure,  he  does,"  said  little  bustling  Ruth, 
as  she  took  the  child,  and  began  taking  off  a  little 
blue  silk  hood,  and  various  layers  and  wrappers 
of  outer  garments  ,  and  having  given  a  twitch  here, 
and  a  pull  there,  and  variously  adjusted  and  ar- 
ranged him,  and  kissed  him  heartily,  she  set  him  on 
the  floor  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Baby  seemed 
quite  used  to  this  mode  of  proceeding,  for  he  put 
his  thumb  in  his  mouth  (as  if  it  were  quite  a  thing 
of  course),  and  seemed  soon  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections,  while  the  mother  seated  herself,  and 
takinar  out  a  Ions:  stocking  of  mixed  blue  and  white 
yarn,  began  to  knit  with  briskness. 

"  Mary,  thee  'd  better  fill  the  kettle,  had  n't  thee  ?  " 
gently  suggested  the  mother. 

Mary  took  the  kettle  to  the  well,  and  soon  re- 
appearing, placed  it  over  the  stove,  where  it  was 
soon  purring  and  steaming,  a  sort  of  censer  of  hos- 
pitality and  good  cheer.  The  peaches,  moreover,  in 
obedience  to  a  few  gentle  whispers  from  Rachel, 
were  soon  deposited,  by  the  same  hand,  in  a  stew- 
pan  over  the  fire. 


I94  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

Rachel  now  took  down  a  snowy  moulding-board, 
and,  tying  on  an  apron,  proceeded  quietly  to  making 
up  some  biscuits,  first  saying  to  Mary, — "  Mary, 
had  n't  thee  better  tell  John  to  get  a  chicken  ready  ?  " 
and  Mary  disappeared  accordingly. 

"  And  how  is  Abigail  Peters  ?  "  said  Rachel,  as 
she  went  on  with  her  biscuits. 

"  O,  she  's  better,"  said  Ruth ;  "  I  was  in,  this 
morning  ;  made  the  bed,  tidied  up  the  house.  Leah 
Hills  went  in,  this  afternoon,  and  baked  bread  and 
pies  enough  to  last  some  days  ;  and  I  engaged  to 
go  back  to  get  her  up,  this  evening." 

"  I  will  go  in  to-morrow,  and  do  any  cleaning 
there  may  be,  and  look  over  the  mending,"  said 
Rachel. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  well,"  said  Ruth.  "  I  've  heard," 
she  added,  "  that  Hannah  Stan  wood  is  sick.  John 
was  up  there,  last  night, — I  must  go  there  to- 
morrow." 

"  John  can  come  in  here  to  his  meals,  if  thee  needs 
to  stay  all  day,"  suggested  Rachel. 

"  Thank  thee,  Rachel ;  will  see,  to-morrow  ;  but, 
here  comes  Simeon." 

Simeon  Halliday,  a  tall,  straight,  muscular  man, 
in  drab  coat  and  pantaloons,  and  broad-brimmed 
hat,  now  entered. 

"How  is  thee,  Ruth?"  he  said,  warmly,  as  he 
spread  his  broad  open  hand  for  her  little  fat  palm ; 
"  and  how  is  John  ?  " 

"  O  !  John  is  well,  and  all  the  rest  of  our  folks," 
said  Ruth,  cheerily. 

"  Any  news,  father  ?  "  said  Rachel,  as  she  was 
putting  her  biscuits  into  the  oven. 

"  Peter  Stebbins  told  me  that  they  should  be 
along  to-night,  with  friends"  said  Simeon,  signifi- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  195 

cantly,  as  he  was  washing  his  hands  at  a  neat  sink,, 
in  a  little  back  porch. 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Rachel,  looking  thoughtfully y 
and  glancing  at  Eliza. 

"  Did  thee  say  thy  name  was  Harris  ? "  said 
Simeon  to  Eliza,  as  he  reentered. 

Rachel  glanced  quickly  at  her  husband,  as  Eliza 
tremulously  answered  "  yes  ;  her  fears,  ever  upper- 
most, suggesting  that  possibly  there  might  be  adver- 
tisements out  for  her. 

"  Mother  !  "  said  Simeon,  standing  in  the  porch,, 
and  calling  Rachel  out. 

"  What  does  thee  want,  father  ?  "  said  Rachel, 
rubbing  her  floury  hands,  as  she  went  into  the 
porch. 

"  This  child's  husband  is  in  the  settlement,  and 
will  be  here  to-night,"  said  Simeon. 

"Now,  thee  doesn't  say  that,  father?"  said 
Rachel,  all  her  face  radiant  with  joy. 

"  It  's  really  true.  Peter  was  down  yesterday, 
with  the  wagon,  to  the  other  stand,  and  there  he 
found  an  old  woman  and  two  men.;  and  one  said 
his  name  was  George  Harris  ;  and,  from  what  he 
told  of  his  history,  I  am  certain  who  he  is.  He  is 
a  bright,  likely  fellow,  too.  Shall  we  tell  her  now  ?  " 
said  Simeon. 

"  Let's  tell  Ruth,"  said  Rachel.  "  Here,  Ruth, — 
come  here." 

Ruth  laid  down  her  knitting-work,  and  was  in  the 
back  porch  in  a  moment. 

"  Ruth,  what  does  thee  think  ? "  said  Rachel. 
"  Father  says  Eliza's  husband  is  in  the  last  com- 
pany, and  will  be  here  to-night." 

A  burst  of  joy  from  the  little  Quakeress  inter- 
rupted the  speech.     She   gave  such  a  bound  from 


196  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

the  floor,  as  she  clapped  her  little  hands,  that  two 
stray  curls  fell  from  under  her  Quaker  cap,  and  lay 
brightly  on  her  white  neckerchief. 

"  Hush  thee,  dear  !  "  said  Rachel,  gently ;  "  hush, 
Ruth  !     Tell  us,  shall  we  tell  her  now  ?  " 

"  Now  !  to  be  sure, — this  very  minute.  Why, 
now,  suppose  't  was  my  John,  how  should  I  feel  ? 
Do  tell  her,  right  off." 

"  Thee  uses  thyself  only  to  learn  how  to  love  thy 
neighbor,  Ruth,"  said  Simeon,  looking,  with  a  beam- 
ing face,  on  Ruth. 

"  To  be  sure.  Is  n't  it  what  we  are  made  for  ? 
If  I  did  n't  love  John  and  the  baby,  I  should  not 
know  how  to  feel  for  her.  Come,  now,  do  tell  her, 
— do  ! "  and  she  laid  her  hands  persuasively  on 
Rachel's  arm.  "  Take  her  into  thy  bedroom, 
there,  and  let  me  fry  the  chicken  while  thee  does 
it." 

Rachel  came  out  into  the  kitchen,  where  Eliza 
was  sewing,  and  opening  the  door  of  a  small  bed- 
room said,  gently,  "  Come  in  here  with  me,  my 
daughter;  I  have  news  to  tell  thee." 

The  blood  flushed  in  Eliza's  pale  face  ;  she  rose, 
trembling  with  nervous  anxiety,  and  looked  towards 
her  boy. 

"  No,  no,"  said  little  Ruth,  darting  up,  and 
seizing  her  hands.  "  Never  thee  fear  ;  it  's  good 
news,  Eliza, — go  in,  go  in !  "  And  she  gently 
pushed  her  to  the  door,  which  closed  after  her ;  and 
then,  turning  round,  she  caught  little  Harry  in  her 
arms,  and  began  kissing  him. 

"  Thee  '11  see  thy  father,  little  one.  Does  thee 
know  it?  Thy  father  is  coming,"  she  said,  over 
and  over  again,  as  the  boy  looked  wonderingly  at 
her. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  197 

Meanwhile  within  the  door,  another  scene  was 
going  on.  Rachel  Halliday  drew  Eliza  toward  her, 
and  said,  "  The  Lord  hath  had  mercy  on  thee, 
daughter  ;  thy  husband  hath  escaped  from  the  house 
of  bondage." 

The  blood  flushed  to  Eliza's  cheek  in  a  sudden 
glow,  and  went  back  to  her  heart  with  as  sudden  a 
rush.     She  sat  down,  pale  and  faint. 

"  Have  courage,  child,"  said  Rachel,  laying  her 
hand  on  her  head.  "  He  is  among  friends,  who 
will  bring  him  here  to-night." 

"  To-night !  "  Eliza  repeated,  "  to-night !  "  The 
words  lost  all  meaning  to  her ;  her  head  was 
dreamy  and  confused ;  all  was  mist  for  a  moment. 


When  she  awoke,  she  found  herself  snugly 
tucked  up  on  the  bed,  with  a  blanket  over  her,  and 
little  Ruth  rubbing  her  hands  with  camphor.  She 
opened  her  eyes  in  a  state  of  dreamy,  delicious  lan- 
guor, such  as  one  has  who  has  long  been  bearing 
a  heavy  load,  and  now  feels  it  gone,  and  would  rest. 
The  tension  of  the  nerves,  which  had  never  ceased 
a  moment  since  the  first  hour  of  her  flight,  had  given 
way,  and  a  strange  feeling  of  security  and  rest  came 
over  her  ;  and,  as  she  lay,  with  her  large,  dark  eyes 
open,  she  followed,  as  in  a  quiet  dream,  the  motions 
of  those  about  her.  She  saw  the  door  open  into  the 
other  room  ;  saw  the  supper-table,  with  its  snowy 
cloth  ;  heard  the  dreamy  murmur  of  the  singing  tea- 
kettle ;  saw  Ruth  tripping  backward  and  forward, 
with  plates  of  cake  and  saucers  of  preserves,  and 
ever  and  anon  stopping  to  put  a  cake  into  Harry's 
hand,  or  pat  his  head,  or  twine  his  long  curls  round 
her  snowy  fingers.  She  saw  the  ample,  motherly 
form  of   Rachel,  as  she  ever  and  anon  came  to  the 


198  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

bed-side,  and  smoothed  and  arranged  something 
about  the  bed-clothes,  and  gave  a  tuck  here  and 
there,  by  way  of  expressing  her  good-will ;  and  was 
conscious  of  a  kind  of  sunshine  beaming  down  upon 
her  from  her  large,  clear,  brown  eyes.  She  saw 
Ruth's  husband  come  in, — saw  her  fly  up  to  him, 
and  commence  whispering  very  earnestly,  ever  and 
anon,  with  impressive  gesture,  pointing. her  little 
finger  toward  the  room.  She  saw  her,  with  the  baby 
in  her  arms,  sitting  down  to  tea  ;  she  saw  them  all 
at  table,  and  little  Harry  in  a  high  chair,  under  the 
shadow  of  Rachel's  ample  wing  ;  there  were  low  mur- 
murs of  talk,  gentle  tinkling  of  tea-spoons,  and  mu- 
sical clatter  cf  cups  and  saucers,  and  all  mingled  in 
a  delightful  dream  of  rest ;  and  Eliza  slept,  as  she 
had  not  slept  before,  since  the  fearful  midnight  hour 
when  she  had  taken  her  child  and  fled  through  the 
frosty  star-light. 

She  dreamed  of  a  beautiful  country, : — a  land,  it 
seemed  to  her,  of  rest, — green  shores,  pleasant 
islands,  and  beautifully  glittering  water ;  and  there, 
in  a  house  which  kind  voices  told  her  was  a  home, 
she  saw  her  boy  playing,  a  free  and  happy  child. 
She  heard  her  husband's  footsteps ;  she  felt  him 
coming  nearer  ;  his  arms  were  around  her,  his  tears 
falling  on  her  face,  and  she  awoke  !  It  was  no  dream. 
The  daylight  had  long  faded  ;  her  child  lay  calmly 
sleeping  by  her  side ;  a  candle  was  burning  dimly 
on  the  stand,  and  her  husband  was  sobbing  by  her 
pillow. 


The  next  morning  was  a  cheerful  one  at  the 
Quaker  house.  "  Mother  "  was  up  betimes,  and  sur- 
rounded by  busy  girls  and  boys,  whom  we  had  scarce 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  199 

time  to  introduce  to  our  readers  yesterday,  and  who 
all  moved  obediently  to  Rachel's  gentle  "  Thee  had 
better,"  or  more  gentle  "  Had  n't  thee  better  ?  "  in 
the  work  of  getting  breakfast ;  for  a  breakfast  in  the 
luxurious  valleys  of  Indiana  is  a  thing  complicated 
and  multiform,  and,  like  picking  up  the  rose-leaves 
and  trimming  the  bushes  in  Paradise,  asking  other 
hands  than  those  of  the  original  mother.  While, 
therefore,  John  ran  to  the  spring  for  fresh  water,  and 
Simeon  the  second  sifted  meal  for  corn-cakes,  and 
Mary  ground  coffee,  Rachel  moved  gently  and  quietly 
about,  making  biscuits,  cutting  up  chicken,  and  dif- 
fusing a  sort  of  sunny  radiance  over  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding generally.  If  there  was  any  danger  of  fric- 
tion or  collision  from  the  ill-regulated  zeal  of  so 
many  young  operators,  her  gentle  "  Come  !  come  !  " 
or  "  I  would  n't,  now,"  was  quite  sufficient  to  allay 
the  difficulty.  Bards  have  written  of  the  cestus  of 
Venus,  that  turned  the  heads  of  all  the  world  in  suc- 
cessive generations.  We  had  rather,  for  our  part, 
have  the  cestus  of  Rachel  Halliday,  that  kept  heads 
from  being  turned,  and  made  everything  go  on  har- 
moniously. We  think  it  is  more  suited  to  our  modern 
days,  decidedly. 

While  all  other  preparations  were  going  on, 
Simeon  the  elder  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  before  a 
little  looking-glass  in  the  corner,  engaged  in  the  anti- 
patriarchal  operation  of  shaving.  Everything  went 
on  so  sociably,  so  quietly,  so  harmoniously,  in  the 
great  kitchen, — it  seemed  so  pleasant  to  every  one 
to  do  just  what  they  were  doing,  there  was  such  an 
atmosphere  of  mutual  confidence  and  good  fellow- 
ship everywhere, — even  the  knives  and  forks  had  a 
social  clatter  as  they  went  on  to  the  table  ;  and  the 
chicken  and  ham  had  a  cheerful  and  joyous  fizzle  in 


200  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

the  pan,  as  if  they  rather  enjoyed  being  cooked  than 
otherwise  ; — and  when  George  and  Eliza  and  little 
Harry  came  out,  they  met  such  a  hearty,  rejoicing 
welcome,  no  wonder  it  seemed  to  them  like  a  dream. 

At  last,  they  were  all  seated  at  breakfast,  while 
Mary  stood  at  the  stove,  baking  griddle-cakes,  which, 
as  they  gained  the  true  exact  golden-brown  tint  of 
perfection,  were  transferred  quite  handily  to  the 
table. 

Rachel  never  looked  so  truly  and  benignly  happy 
as  at  the  head  of  her  table.  There  was  so  much 
motherliness  and  full-heartedness  even  in  the  way 
she  passed  a  plate  of  cakes  or  poured  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee, that  it  seemed  to  put  a  spirit  into  the  food  and 
drink  she  offered. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  ever  George  had  sat  down 
on  equal  terms  at  any  white  man's  table  ;  and  he  sat 
down,  at  first,  with  some  constraint  and  awkward- 
ness ;  but  they  all  exhaled  and  went  off  like  fog,  in 
the  genial  morning  rays  of  this  simple  overflowing 
kindness. 

This,  indeed,  was  a  home, — home, — a  word  that 
George  had  never  yet  known  a  meaning  for ;  and  a 
belief  in  God,  and  trust  in  His  providence,  began  to 
encircle  his  heart,  as,  with  a  golden  cloud  of  protec- 
tion and  confidence,  dark,  misanthropic,  pining, 
atheistic  doubts,  and  fierce  despair,  melted  away  be- 
fore the  light  of  a  living  Gospel,  breathed  in  living 
faces,  preached  by  a  thousand  unconscious  acts  of 
love  and  good  will,  which,  like  the  cup  of  cold  water 
given  in  the  name  of  a  disciple,  shall  never  lose  their 
reward. 

"  Father,  what  if  thee  should  get  found  out 
again  ? "  said  Simeon  second,  as  he  buttered  his  cake. 

"  I  should  pay  my  fine,"  said  Simeon,  quietly. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  201 

"  But  what  if  they  put  thee  in  prison  ? " 

"  Could  n't  thee  and  mother  manage  the  farm  ?  " 
said  Simeon,  smiling. 

"  Mother  can  do  almost  everything,"  said  the  boy. 
"  But  is  n't  it  a  shame  to  make  such  laws  ?  " 

"Thee  mustn't  speak  evil  of  thy  rulers,-  Simeon,'* 
said  his  father,  gravely.  "The  Lord  only  gives  us 
our  worldly  goods  that  we  may  do  justice  and  mercy  ; 
if  our  rulers  require  a  price  of  us  for  it,  we  must  de- 
liver it  up." 

"  Well,  I  hate  those  old  slaveholders  !  "  said  the 
boy,  who  felt  as  unchristian  as  became  any  modern 
reformer. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  thee,  son,"  said  Simeon  ;  "thy 
mother  never  taught  thee  so.  I  would  do  even  the 
same  for  the  slaveholder  as  for  the  slave,  if  the 
Lord  brought  him  to  my  door  in  affliction." 

Simeon  second  blushed  scarlet ;  but  his  mother 
only  smiled,  and  said,  "  Simeon  is  my  good  boy  ; 
he  will  grow  older,  by  and  by,  and  then  he  will  be 
like  his  father." 

"  I  hope,  my  good  sir,  that  you  are  not  exposed 
to  any  difficulty  on  our  account,"  said  George,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Fear  nothing,  George,  for  therefore  are  we  sent 
into  the  world.  If  we  would  not  meet  trouble  for  a 
good  cause,  we  were  not  worthy  of  our  name." 

"  But, for  me"  said  George,  "  I  could  not  bear  it." 

"  Fear  not,  then,  friend  George  ;  it  is  not  for  thee, 
but  for  God  and  man,  we  do  it,"  said  Simeon. 
"  And  now  thou  must  lie  by  quietly  this  day,  and  to- 
night, at  ten  o'clock,  Phineas  Fletcher  will  carry  thee 
onward  to  the  next  stand, — thee  and  the  rest  of  thy 
company.  The  pursuers  are  hard  after  thee  ;  we 
must  not  delay." 


2  02  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  why  wait  till  evening !  "  said 
George. 

"  Thou  art  safe  here  by  daylight,  for  every  one  in 
the  settlement  is  a  Friend,  and  all  are  watching. 
It  has  been  found  safer  to  travel  by  night." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EVANGELINE. 

"  A  young  star !  which  shone 

O'er  life — too  sweet  an  image  for  such  glass  ! 
A  lovely  being,  scarcely  formed  or  moulded  ; 
A  rose  with  all  its  sweetest  leaves  yet  folded.'' 

The  Mississippi  !  How,  as  by  an  enchanted  wand, 
have  its  scenes  been  changed,  since  Chateaubriand 
wrote  his  prose-poetic  description  of  it,  as  a  river  of 
mighty,  unbroken  solitudes,  rolling  amid  undreamed 
wonders  of  vegetable  and  animal  existence. 

But,  as  in  an  hour,  this  river  of  dreams  and  wild 
romance  has  emerged  to  a  .reality  scarcely  less 
visionary  and  splendid.  What  other  river  of  the 
world  bears  on  its  bosom  to  the  ocean  the  wealth 
and  enterprise  of  such  another  country  ? — a  country 
whose  products  embrace  all  between  the  tropics  and 
the  poles  !  Those  turbid  waters  hurrying,  foaming, 
tearing  along,  an  apt  resemblance  of  that  headlong 
tide  of  business  which  is  poured  along  its  wave  by 
a  race  more  vehement  and  energetic  than  any  the 
old  world  ever  saw.  Ah  !  would  that  they  did  not 
also  bear  along  a  more  fearful  freight, — the  tears  of 
the  oppressed,  the  sighs  of  the  helpless,  the  bitter 
prayers  of  the  poor,  ignorant  hearts  to  an  unknown 
God — unknown,  unseen  and  silent,  but  who  will  yet 
"  come  out  of  his  place  to  save  all  the  poor  of  the 
earth!-' 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY  203 

The  slanting  light  of  the  setting  sun  quivers  on 
the  sea-like  expanse  of  the  river ;  the  shivery  canes, 
and  the  tall,  dark  cypress,  hung  with  wreaths  of 
dark,  funereal  moss,  glow  in  the  golden  ray,  as  the 
heavily-laden  steamboat  marches  onward. 

Piled  with  cotton-bales,  from  many  a  plantation, 
up  over  deck  and  sides,  till  she  seems  in  the  dis- 
tance a  square,  massive  block  of  gray,  she  moves 
heavily  onward  to  the  nearing  mart.  We  must  look 
some  time  among  its  crowded  decks  before  we  shall 
find  again  our  humble  friend  Tom.  High  on  the 
upper  deck,  in  a  little  nook  among  the  everywhere 
predominant  cotton-bales,  at  last  we  may  find  him. 

Partly  from  confidence  inspired  by  Mr.  Shelby's 
representations,  and  partly  from  the  remarkably 
inoffensive  and  quiet  character  of  the  man,  Tom 
had  insensibly  won  his  way  far  into  the  confidence 
even  of  such  a  man  as  Haley. 

At  first  he  had  watched  him  narrowly  through  the 
day,  and  never  allowed  him  to  sleep  at  night  un- 
fettered ;  but  the  uncomplaining  patience  and  ap- 
parent contentment  of  Tom's  manner  led  him  grad- 
ually to  discontinue  these  restraints,  and  for  some 
time  Tom  had  enjoyed  a  sort  of  parole  of  honor, 
being  permitted  to  come  and  go  freely  where  he 
pleased  on  the  boat. 

Ever  quiet  and  obliging,  and  more  than  ready  to 
lend  a  hand  in  every  emergency  which  occurred 
among  the  workmen  below,  he  had  won  the  good 
opinion  of  all  the  hands,  and  spent  many  hours  in 
helping  them  with  as  hearty  a  good  will  as  ever  he 
worked  on  a  Kentucky  farm. 

When  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  him  to  do, 
he  would  climb  to  a  nook  among  the  cotton-bales  of 
the  upper  deck,  and  busy  himself  in  studying  over 
his  Bible, — and  it  is  there  we  see  him  now. 

15 


204  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

For  a  hundred  or  more  miles  above  New  Orleans, 
the  river  is  higher  than  the  surrounding  country,  and 
rolls  its  tremendous  volume  between  massive  levees 
twenty  feet  in  height.  The  traveller  from  the  deck 
of  the  steamer,  as  from  some  floating  castle  top, 
overlooks  the  whole  country  for  miles  and  miles 
around.  Tom,  therefore,  had  spread  out  full  before 
him,  in  plantation  after  plantation,  a  map  of  the  life 
to  which  he  was  approaching. 

He  saw  the  distant  slaves  at  their  toil ;  he  saw 
afar  their  villages  of  huts  gleaming  out  in  long  rows 
on  many  a  plantation,  distant  from  the  stately  man- 
sions and  pleasure-grounds  of  the  master ; — and  as 
the  moving  picture  passed  on,  his  poor,  foolish  heart 
would  be  turning  backward  to  the  Kentucky  farm, 
with  its  old  shadowy  beeches, — to  the  master's 
house,  with  its  wide,  cool  halls,  and,  near  by,  the 
little  cabin,  overgrown  with  the  multiflora  and  big- 
nonia.  There  he  seemed  to  see  familiar  faces  of 
comrades,  who  had  grown  up  with  him  from  infancy ; 
he  saw  his  busy  wife,  bustling  in  her  preparations 
for  his  evening  meals  ;  he  heard  the  merry  laugh  of 
his  boys  at  their  play,  and  the  chirrup  of  the  baby 
at  his  knee ;  and  then,  with  a  start,  all  faded,  and 
he  saw  again  the  cane-brakes  and  cypresses  and 
gliding  plantations,  and  heard  again  the  creaking 
and  groaning  of  the  machinery,  all  telling  him  too 
plainly  that  all  that  phase  of  life  had  gone  by  for- 
ever. 

In  such  a  case,  you  write  to  your  wife,  and  send 
messages  to  your  children ;  but  Tom  could  not 
write, — the  mail  for  him  had  no  existence,  and  the 
gulf  of  separation  was  unbridged  by  even  a  friendly 
word  or  signal. 

Is  it  strange,    then,    that  some  tears  fall  on  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  205 

pages  of  his  Bible,  as  he  lays  it  on  the  cotton- bale, 
and,  with  patient  finger,  threading  his  slow  way  from 
word  to  word,  traces  out  its  promises  ?  Having 
learned  late  in  life,  Tom  was  but  a  slow  reader,  and 
passed  on  laboriously  from  verse  to  verse.  Fortun- 
ate for  him  was  it  that  the  book  he  was  intent  on 
was  one  which  slow  reading  cannot  injure, — nay, 
one  whose  words,  like  ingots  of  gold,  seem  often  to 
need  to  be  weighed  separately,  that  the  mind  may 
take  in  their  priceless  value.  Let  us  follow  him  a 
moment,  as,  pointing  to  each  word,  and  pronouncing 
each  half  aloud,  he  reads, 

"  Let — not — your — heart — be — troubled.  In — ■ 
my — Father's — house — are — many — mansions.  I — - 
go — to — prepare — a — place — for — you." 

Cicero,  when  he  buried  his  darling  and  only 
daughter,  had  a  heart  as  full  of  honest  grief  as  poor 
Tom's — perhaps  no  fuller,  for  both  were  only  men ; 
— but  Cicero  could  pause  over  no  such  sublime 
words  of  hope,  and  look  to  no  such  future  reunion ; 
and  if  he  had  seen  them,  ten  to  one  he  would  not 
have  believed, — he  must  fill  his  head  first  with  a 
thousand  questions  of  authenticity  of  manuscript, 
and  correctness  of  translation.  But,  to  poor  Tom, 
there  it  lay,  just  what  he  needed,  so  evidently  true 
and  divine  that  the  possibility  of  a  question  never 
entered  his  simple  head.  It  must  be  true  ;  for,  if 
not  true,  how  could  he  live  ? 

As  for  Tom's  Bible,  though  it  had  no  annotations 
and  helps  in  margin  from  learned  commentators, 
still  it  had  been  embellished  with  certain  way-marks 
and  guide-boards  of  Tom's  own  invention,  and 
which  helped  him  more  than  the  most  learned  ex- 
positions could  have  done,  It  had  been  his  custom 
to  get  the  Bible  read  to  him  by  his  master's  chil- 


2o6'  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

dren,  in  particular  by  young  Master  George ;  and,  as 
they  read,  he  would  designate,  by  bold,  strong  marks 
and  dashes,  with  pen  and  ink,  the  passages  which 
more  particularly  gratified  his  ear  or  affected  his 
heart.  His  Bible  was  thus  marked  through,  from 
one  end  to  the  other,  with  a  variety  of  styles  and 
designations  ;  so  he  could  in  a  moment  seize  upon 
his  favorite  passages,  without  the  labor  of  spelling 
out  what  lay  between  them  ;  and  while  it  lay  there 
before  him,  every  passage  breathing  of  some  old 
home  scene,  and  recalling  some  past  enjoyment,  his 
Bible  seemed  to  him  all  of  this  life  that  remained, 
as  well  as  the  promise  of  a  future  one. 

Among  the  passengers  on  the  boat  was  a  young 
gentleman  of  fortune  and  family,  resident  in  New 
Orleans,  who  bore  the  name  of  St.  Clare.  He  had 
with  him  a  daughter  between  five  and  six  years  of 
age,  together  with  a  lady  who  seemed  to  claim  rela- 
tionship to  both,  and  to  have  the  little  one  especially 
under  her  charge. 

Tom  had  often  caught  glimpses  of  this  little  girl, 
— for  she  was  one  of  those  busy,  tripping  creatures, 
that  can  be  no  more  contained  in  one  place  than  a 
sunbeam  or  a  summer  breeze, — nor  was  she  one 
that,  once  seen,  could  be  easily  forgotten. 

Her  form  was  the  perfection  of  childish  beauty, 
without  its  usual  chubbiness  and  squareness  of  out- 
line. There  was  about  it  an  undulating  and  aerial 
grace,  such  as  one  might  dream  of  for  some  mythic 
and  allegorical  being.  Her  face  was  remarkable 
less  for  its  perfect  beauty  of  feature  than  for  a  sin- 
gular and  dreamy  earnestness  of  expression,  which 
made  the  ideal  start  when  they  looked  at  her,  and 
by  which  the  dullest  and  most  literal  were  impressed, 
without  exactly  knowing  why.     The  shape  of  her 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  207 

head  and  the  turn  of  her  neck  and  bust  was  pecu- 
liarly noble,  and  the  long  golden-brown  hair  that 
floated  like  a  cloud  around  it,  the  deep  spiritual 
gravity  of  her  violet  blue  eyes,  shaded  by  heavy 
fringes  of  golden  brown, — all  marked  her  out  from 
other  children,  and  made  every  one  turn  and  look 
after  her,  as  she  glided  hither  and  thither  on  the 
boat.  Nevertheless,  the  little  one  was  not  what  you 
would  have  called  either  a  grave  child  or  a  sad  one. 
On  the  contrary,  an  airy  and  innocent  playfulness 
seemed  to  flicker  like  the  shadow  of  summer  leaves 
over  her  childish  face,  and  around  her  buoyant  figure. 
She  was  always  in  motion,  always  with  a  half  smile 
on  her  rosy  mouth,  flying  hither  and  thither,  with  an 
undulating  and  cloud-like  tread,  singing  to  herself 
as  she  moved  as  in  a  happy  dream.  Her  father  and 
female  guardian  were  incessantly  busy  in  pursuit  of 
her, — but,  when  caught,  she  melted  from  them  again 
like  a  summer  cloud ;  and  as  no  word  of  chiding  or 
reproof  ever  fell  on  her  ear  for  whatever  she  chose 
to  do,  she  pursued  her  own  way  all  over  the  boat. 
Always  dressed  in  white,  she  seemed  to  move  like  a 
shadow  through  all  sorts  of  places,  without  contract- 
ing spot  or  stain  ;  and  there  was  not  a  corner  or 
nook,  above  or  below,  where  those  fairy  footsteps 
had  not  glided,  and  that  visionary  golden  head,  with 
its  deep  blue  eyes,  fleeted  along. 

The  fireman,  as  he  looked  up  from  his  sweaty  toil, 
sometimes  found  those  eyes  looking  wonderingly 
into  the  raging  depths  of  the  furnace,  and  fearfully 
and  pityingly  at  him,  as  if  she  thought  him  in  some 
dreadful  danger.  Anon  the  steersman  at  the  wheel 
paused  and  smiled,  as  the  picture-like  head  gleamed 
through  the  window  of  the  round  house,  and  in  a 
moment  was  gone  again.     A  thousand  times   a  day 


203  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

rough  voices  blessed  her,  and  smiles  of  unwonted 
softness  stole  over  hard  faces,  as  she  passed  ;  and 
when  she  tripped  fearlessly  over  dangerous  places, 
rough,  sooty  hands  were  stretched  involuntarily  out 
to  save  her,  and  smooth  her  path. 

Tom,  who  had  the  soft,  impressible  nature  of  his 
kindly  race,  ever  yearning  toward  the  simple  and 
childlike,  watched  the  little  creature  with  daily  in- 
creasing interest.  To  him  she  seemed  something 
almost  divine  ;  and  whenever  her  golden  head  and 
deep  blue  eyes  peered  out  upon  him  from  behind 
some  dusky  cotton-bale,  or  looked  down  upon  him 
over  some  ridge  of  packages,  he  half  believed  that 
he  saw  one  of  the  angels  stepped  out  of  his  New 
Testament. 

Often  and  often  she  walked  mournfully  round  the 
place  where  Haley's  gang  of  men  and  women  sat  in 
their  chains.  She  would  glide  in  among  them,  and 
look  at  them  with  an  air  of  perplexed  and  sorrowful 
earnestness ;  and  sometimes  she  would  lift  their 
chains  with  her  slender  hands,  and  then  sigh  wo- 
fully,  as  she  glided  away.  Several  times  she  ap- 
peared suddenly  among  them,  with  her  hands  full 
•of  candy,  nuts,  and  oranges,  which  she  would  dis- 
tribute joyfully  to  them,  and  then  be  gone  again. 

Tom  watched  the  little  lady  a  great  deal,  before 
he  ventured  on  any  overtures  towards  acquaint- 
anceship. He  knew  an  abundance  of  simple  acts 
to  propitiate  and  invite  the  approaches  of  the  little 
people,  and  he  resolved  to  play  his  part  right  skil- 
fully. He  could  cut  cunning  little  baskets  out  of 
cherry-stones,  could  make  grotesque  faces  on 
jhickory-nuts,  or  odd-jumping  figures  out  of  elder- 
pith,  and  he  was  a  very  Pan  in  the  manufacture  of 
whistles  of  all  sizes  and  sorts.     His  pockets  were 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  209 

full  of  miscellaneous  articles  of  attraction,  which  he 
had  hoarded  in  days  of  old  for  his  master's  children, 
and  which  he  now  produced,  with  commendable 
prudence  and  economy,  one  by  one,  as  overtures  for 
acquaintance  and  friendship. 

The  little  one  was  shy,  for  all  her  busy  interest  in 
everything  going  on,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  tame 
her.  For  a  while,  she  would  perch  like  a  canary- 
bird  on  some  box  or  package  near  Tom,  while  busy 
in  the  little  arts  afore-named,  and  take  from  him, 
with  a  kind  of  grave  bashfulness,  the  little  articles 
he  offered.  But  at  last  they  got  on  quite  confiden- 
tial terms. 

"  What 's  little  missy's  name  I "  said  Tom,  at  last, 
when  he  thought  matters  were  ripe  to  push  such  an 
inquiry. 

"  Evangeline  St.  Clare,"  said  the  little  one, 
'*  though  papa  and  everybody  else  call  me  Eva. 
Now,  what 's  your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name  's  Tom  ;  the  little  chil'en  used  to  call 
me  Uncle  Tom,  way  back  thar  in  Kentuck." 

"  Then  I  mean  to  call  you  Uncle  Tom,  because, 
you  see,  I  like  you,"  said  Eva.  "  So,  Uncle  Tom, 
where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Eva." 

"  Don't  know  ? "  said  Eva. 

"  No.  I  am  going  to  be  sold  to  somebody.  I 
don't  know  who." 

■"  My  papa  can  buy  you,"  said  Eva,  quickly  ;  "  and 
if  he  buys  you,  you  will  have  good  times.  I  mean 
to  ask  him  to,  this  very  day." 

u  Thank  you,  my  little  lady,"  said  Tom. 

The  boat  here  stopped  at  a  small  landing  to  take 
in  wood,  and  Eva,  hearing  her  father's  voice, 
bounded  nimbly  away.     Tom  rose  up,  and  went  for- 


2IO  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

ward  to  offer  his  service  in  wooding,  and  soon  was 
busy  among  the  hands. 

Eva  and  her  father  were  standing  together  by  the 
railings  to  see  the  boat  start  from  the  landing-place, 
the  wheel  had  made  two  or  three  revolutions  in  the 
water,  when,  by  some  sudden  movement,  the  little 
one  suddenly  lost  her  balance,  and  fell  sheer  over 
the  side  of  the  boat  into  the  water.  Her  father, 
scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  was  plunging  in  after 
her,  but  was  held  back  by  some  behind  him,  who 
saw  that  more  efficient  aid  had  followed  his  child. 

Tom  was  standing  just  under  her  on  the  lower 
deck,  as  she  fell.  He  saw  her  strike  the  water,  and 
sink,  and  was  after  her  in  a  moment.  A  broad- 
chested,  strong-armed  fellow,  it  was  nothing  for  him 
to  keep  afloat  in  the  water,  till,  in  a  moment  or  two,, 
the  child  rose  to  the  surface,  and  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  and,  swinging  with  her  to  the  boat-side, 
handed  her  up,  all  dripping,  to  the  grasp  of  hundreds, 
of  hands,  which,  as  if  they  had  all  belonged  to  one 
man,  were  stretched  eagerly  out  to  receive  her.  A. 
few  moments  more,  and  her  father  bore  her,  dripping 
and  senseless,  to  the  ladies'  cabin,  where,  as  is 
usual  in  cases  of  the  kind,  there  ensued  a  very  well- 
meaning  and  kind-hearted  strife  among  the  female 
occupants  generally,  as  to  who  should  do  the  most 
things  to  make  a  disturbance,  and  to  hinder  her  re- 
covery in  every  way  possible. 


It  was  a  sultry,  close  day,  the  next  day,  as  the 
steamer  drew  near  to  New  Orleans.  A  general 
bustle  of  expectation  and  preparation  was  spread 
through  the  boat ;  in  the  cabin,  one  and  another 
were  gathering  their  things  together,  and  arranging 
them,   preparatory  to  going  ashore.     The  steward 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  211 

and  chambermaid,  and  all,  were  busily  engaged  in 
cleaning,  furbishing,  and  arranging  the  splendid 
boat,  preparatory  to  a  grand  entree. 

On  the  lower  deck  sat  our  friend  Tom,  with  his 
arms  folded,  and  anxiously,  from  time  to  time,, 
turning  his  eyes  towards  a  group  on  the  other  side 
of  the  boat. 

There  stood  the  fair  Evangeline,  a  little  paler 
than  the  day  before,  but  otherwise  exhibiting  no 
traces  of  the  accident  which  had  befallen  her.  A 
graceful  elegantly-formed  young  man  stood  by 
her,  carelessly  leaning  one  elbow  on  a  bale  of  cotton, 
while  a  large  pocket-book  lay  open  before  him.  It 
was  quite  evident,  at  a  glance,  that  the  gentleman 
was  Eva's  father.  There  was  the  same  noble  cast 
of  head,  the  same  large  blue  eyes,  the  same  golden- 
brown  hair  ;  yet  the  expression  was  wholly  different. 
In  the  large,  clear  blue  eyes,  though  in  form  and 
color  exactly  similar,  there  was  wanting  that  misty,, 
dreamy  depth  of  expression ;  all  was  clear,  bold? 
and  bright,  but  with  a  light  wholly  of  this  world  : 
the  beautifully  cut  mouth  had  a  proud  and  some- 
what sarcastic  expression,  while  an  air  of  free-and- 
easy  superiority  sat  not  ungracefully  in  every  turn 
and  movement  of  his  fine  form.  He  was  listening, 
with  a  good-humored,  negligent  air,  half  comic,  half 
contemptuous,  to  Haley,  who  was  very  volubly  ex- 
patiating on  the  quality  of  the  article  for  which  they 
were  bargaining. 

"  All  the  moral  and  Christian  virtues  bound  in 
black  morocco,  complete ! "  he  said,  when  Haley 
had  finished.  "Well,  now,  my  good  fellow,  what's 
the  damage,  as  they  say  in  Kentucky ;  in  short, 
what 's  to  be  paid  out  for  this  business  ?  How 
much  are  you  going  to  cheat  me,  now  ?    Out  with  it ! ,T 


212  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Wal,"  said  Haley,  "  if  I  should  say  thirteen 
hundred  dollars  for  that  ar  fellow,  I  should  n't  but 
just  save  myself ;  I  should  n't,  now,  re'ly." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  the  young  man,  fixing  his 
keen,  mocking  blue  eye  on  him ;  "  but  I  suppose 
you  'd  let  me  have  him  for  that,  out  of  a  particular 
regard  for  me." 

"  Well,  the  young  lady  here  seems  to  be  sot  on 
him,  and  nat'lly  enough." 

"  O  !  certainly,  there  's  a  call  on  your  benevo- 
lence, my  friend.  Now,  as  a  matter  of  Christian 
charity,  how  cheap  could  you  afford  to  let  him  go, 
to  oblige  a  young  lady  that 's  particular  sot  on 
Jiim?" 

" Wal,  now,  just  think  on  't,"  said  the  trader; 
■"  just  look  at  them  limbs, — broad-chested,  strong  as 
a  horse.  Look  at  his  head ;  them  high  forrads 
allays  shows  calculatin  niggers,  that  '11  do  any  kind 
o'  thing.  I  've  marked  that  ar.  Now,  a  nigger  of 
that  ar  heft  and  build  is  worth  considerable,  just,  as 
you  may  say,  for  his  body,  supposin  he  's  stupid  ; 
but  come  to  put  in  his  calculatin  faculties,  and 
them  which  I  can  show  he  has  oncommon, 
why,  of  course,  it  makes  him  come  higher.  Why, 
that  ar  fellow  managed  his  master's  whole  farm. 
He  has  a  strornary  talent  for  business." 

"  Bad,  bad,  very  bad ;  knows  altogether  too 
much  !  "  said  the  young  man,  with  the  same  mock- 
ing smile  playing  about  his  mouth.  "  Never  will 
•do,  in  the  world.  Your  smart  fellows  are  always 
running  off,  stealing  horses,  and  raising  the  devil 
generally.  I  think  you'll  have  to  take  off  a  couple 
•of  hundred  for  his  smartness." 

"  Wal,  there  might  be  something  in  that  ar,  if  it 
warnt  for  his  character ;  but  I  can  show  recommends 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  213 

from  his  master  and  others,  to  prove  he  is  one 
of  your  real  pious, — the  most  humble,  prayin,  pious 
critter  ye  ever  did  see.  Why,  he  's  been  called  a 
preacher  in  them  parts  he  came  from." 

"  And  I  might  use  him  for  a  family  chaplain, 
possibly,"  added  the  young  man,  dryly.  "  That  's 
quite  an  idea.  Religion  is  a  remarkably  scarce 
article  at  our  house." 

"  You  're  joking,  now." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  ?  Did  n't  you  just 
warrant  him  for  a  preacher  ?  Has  he  been  ex- 
amined by  any  synod  or  council  ?  Come,  hand 
over  your  papers." 

If  the  trader  had  not  been  sure,  by  a  certain  good- 
humored  twinkle  in  the  large  blue  eye,  that  all  this 
banter  was  sure,  in  the  long  run,  to  turn  out  a 
cash  concern,  he  might  have  been  somewhat  out  of 
patience;  as  it  was  he  laid  down  a  greasy  pocket- 
book  on  the  cotton-bales,  and  began  anxiously  study- 
ing over  certain  papers  in  it,  the  young  man  standing 
by,  the  while,  looking  down  on  him  with  an  air  of 
careless,  easy  drollery. 

"  Papa,  do  buy  him  !  it  's  no  matter  what  you 
pay,"  whispered  Eva,  softly,  getting  up  on  a  pack- 
age, and  putting  her  arm  around  her  father's  neck. 
"You  have  money  enough,  I  know.     I  want  him." 

"  What  for,  pussy  ?  Are  you  going  to  use  him 
for  a  rattle-box,  or  a  rocking-horse,  or  what  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  make  him  happy." 

"  An  original  reason,  certainly." 

Here  the  trader  handed  up  a  certificate,  signed 
by  Mr.  Shelby,  which  the  j^oung  man  took  with  the 
tips  of  his  long  fingers,  and  glanced  over  care- 
lessly. 

"  A  gentlemanly  hand,"  he  said,  "  and  well  spelt, 


214  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

too.  Well,  now,  but  I  'm  not  sure,  after  all,  about 
this  religion,"  said  he,  the  old  wicked  expression 
returning  to  his  eye  ;  "  the  country  is  almost  ruined 
with  pious  white  people :  such  pious  politicians  as 
we  have  just  before  elections, — such  pious  goings 
on  in  all  departments  of  church  and  state,  that  a 
fellow  does  not  know  who  '11  cheat  him  next.  I 
don't  know,  either,  about  religion's  being  up  in  the 
market  just  now.  I  have  not  looked  in  the  papers 
lately,  to  see  how  it  sells.  How  many  hundred 
dollars,  now,  do  you  put  on  for  this  religion  ?  " 

"  You  like  to  be  a  jokin,  now,"  said  the  trader ; 
"  but,  then,  there  's  sense  under  all  that  ar.  I  know 
there  's  differences  in  religion.  Some  kinds  is 
mis'rable  :  there  's  your  meetin  pious  ;  there  's  your 
singin,  roarin  pious  ;  them  ar  an't  no  account,  in 
black  or  white  ; — but  these  rayly  is  ;  and  I  've 
seen  it  in  niggers  as  often  as  any,  your  rail  softly, 
quiet,  stiddy,  honest,  pious,  that  the  hull  world 
could  n't  tempt  'em  to  do  nothing  that  they  thinks 
is  wrong  ;  and  ye  see  in  this  letter  what  Tom's  old 
master  says  about  him." 

"  Now,"  said  the  young  man,  stooping  gravely 
over  his  book  of  bills,  "  if  you  can  assure  me  that  I 
really  can  buy  this  kind  of  pious,  and  that  it  will  be 
set  down  to  my  account  in  the  book  up  above,  as 
something  belonging  to  me,  I  would  n't  care  if  I 
did  go  a  little  extra  for  it.     Howd'  ye  say  ?  " 

"  Wal,  raily,  I  can't  do  that,"  said  the  trader. 
"  I  'm  a  thinkin  that  every  man  '11  have  to  hang  on 
his  own  hook,  in  them  ar  quarters." 

"  Rather  hard  on  a  fellow  that  pays  extra  on 
religion,  and  can't  trade  with  it  in  the  state  where 
he  wants  it  most,  an't  it,  now  ?  "  said  the  young- 
man,  who  had  been  making  out  a  roll  of  bills  while 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  215 

he  was  speaking.  "  There,  count  your  money,  #ld 
boy!"  he  added,  as  he  handed  the  roll  to  the 
trader. 

"  All  right,"  said  Haley,  his  face  beaming  with 
delight ;  and  pulling  out  an  old  inkhorn,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  fill  out  a  bill  of  sale,  which,  in  a  few 
moments  he  handed  to  the  young  man. 

"  I  wonder,  now,  if  I  was  divided  up  and  in- 
ventoried," said  the  latter,  as  he  ran  over  the  paper, 
"  how  much  I  might  bring.  Say  so  much  for  the 
shape  of  my  head,  so  much  for  a  high  forehead,  so 
much  for  arms,  and  hands,  and  legs,  and  then  so 
much  for  education,  learning,  talent,  honesty,  relig- 
ion !  Bless  me !  there  would  be  small  charge  on 
that  last,  I  'm  thinking.  But  come,  Eva,"  he  said  ; 
and  taking  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  he  stepped 
across  the  boat,  and  carelessly  putting  the  tip  of 
his  finger  under  Tom's  chin,  said,  good-humoredly, 
ff  Look  up,  Tom,  and  see  how  you  like  your  new 
master." 

Tom  looked  up.  It  was  not  in  nature  to  look 
into  that  gay,  young,  handsome  face,  without  a  feel- 
ing of  pleasure  ;  and  Tom  felt  the  tears  start  in  his 
eyes  as  he  said,  heartily,  "  God  bless  you,  Mas'r  ! " 

"  Well,  I  hope  he  will.  What  's  your  name  ? 
Tom  ?  Quite  as  likely  to  do  it  for  your  asking  as 
mine,  from  all  accounts.  Can  you  drive  horses, 
Tom  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  allays  used  to  horses,"  said  Tom. 
"  Mas'r  Shelby  raised  heaps  on  'em." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  shall  put  you  in  coachy,  on  con- 
dition that  you  won't  be  drunk  more  than  once  a 
week,  unless  in  cases  of  emergency,  Tom." 

Tom  looked  surprised,  and  rather  hurt,  and  said, 
"  I  never  drink,  Mas'r." 


2l6  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN:    OR, 

#"I  've  heard  that  story  before,  Tom;  but  then 
we  '11  see.  It  will  be  a  special  accommodation  to 
all  concerned,  if  you  don't.  Never  mind,  my  boy," 
he  added,  good-humoredly,  seeing  Tom  still  looked 
grave ;  "  I  don't  doubt  you  mean  to  do  well." 

"  I  sartin  do,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  you  shall  have  good  times,"  said  Eva. 
"  Papa  is  very  good  to  everybody,  only  he  always 
will  laugh  at  them." 

"  Papa  is  much  obliged  to  you  for  his  recom- 
mendation," said  St.  Clare,  laughing,  as  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

OF  tom's  new  master,  and  various  other  matters. 

Since  the  thread  of  our  humble  hero's  life  has 
now  become  interwoven  with  that  of  higher  ones,  it 
is  necessary  to  give  some  brief  introduction  to  them. 

Augustine  St.  Clare  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
planter  of  Louisiana.  The  family  had  its  origin  in 
Canada.  Of  two  brothers,  very  similar  in  tempera- 
ment and  character,  one  had  settled  on  a  flourishing 
farm  in  Vermont,  and  the  other  became  an  opulent 
planter  in  Louisiana.  The  mother  of  Augustine 
was  a  Huguenot  French  lady,  whose  family  had 
emigrated  to  Louisiana  during  the  days  of  its  early 
settlement.  Augustine  and  another  brother  were 
the  only  children  of  their  parents.  Having  inherited 
from  his  mother  an  exceeding  delicacy  of  constitu- 
tion, he  was,  at  the  instance  of  physicians,  during 
many  years  of  his  boyhood,  sent  to  the  care  of  his 
uncle  in  Vermont,  in  order  that  his  constitution 
might  be  strengthened  by  the  cold  of  a  more  bracing 
climate. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  217 

In  childhood,  he  was  remarkable  for  an  extreme 
and  marked  sensitiveness  of  character,  more  akin  to 
the  softness  of  woman  than  the  ordinary  hardness 
of  his  own  sex.  Time,  however,  overgrew  this  soft- 
ness with  the  rough  bark  of  manhood,  and  but  few 
knew  how  living  and  fresh  it  still  lay  at  the  core. 
His  talents  were  of  the  very  first  order,  although 
his  mind  showed  a  preference  always  for  the  ideal 
and  the  aesthetic,  and  there  was  about  him  that  re- 
pugnance to  the  actual  business  of  life  which  is  the 
common  result  of  this  balance  of  the  faculties.  Soon 
after  the  completion  of  his  college  course,  his  whole 
nature  was  kindled  into  one  intense  and  passionate 
effervescence  of  romantic  passion.  His  hour  came, 
— the  hour  that  comes  only  once  ;  his  star  rose  in  the 
horizon, — that  star  that  rises  so  often  in  vain,  to  be 
remembered  only  as  a  thing  of  dreams ;  and  it  rose 
for  him  in  vain.  To  drop  the  figure, — he  saw  and 
won  the  love  of  a  high-minded  and  beautiful  woman, 
in  one  of  the  northern  states,  and  they  were  affianced. 
He  returned  south  to  make  arrangements  for  their 
marriage,  when,  most  unexpectedly,  his  letters  were 
returned  to  him  by  mail,  with  a  short  note  from  her 
guardian,  stating  to  him  that  ere  this  reached  him 
the  lady  would  be  the  wife  of  another.  Stung  to 
madness,  he  vainly  hoped,  as  many  another  has 
done,  to  fling  the  whole  thing  from  his  heart  by  one 
desperate  effort.  Too  proud  to  supplicate  or  seek 
explanation,  he  threw  himself  at  once  into  a  whirl 
of  fashionable  society,  and  in  a  fortnight  from  the 
time  of  the  fatal  letter  was  the  accepted  lover  of  the 
reigning  belle  of  the  season  ;  and  as  soon  as  arrange- 
ments could  be  made,  he  became  the  husband  of  a 
fine  figure,  a  pair  of  bright  dark  eyes,  and  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  ;  and,  of  course,  everybody  thought 
him  a  happy  fellow. 


2l8  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

The  married  couple  were  enjoying  their  honey- 
moon, and  entertaining  a  brilliant  circle  of  friends 
in  their  splendid  villa,  near  Lake  Pontchartrain, 
when,  one  day,  a  letter  was  brought  to  him  in  that 
well-remembered  writing.  It  was  handed  to  him 
while  he  was  in  full  tide  of  gay  and  successful  con- 
versation, in  a  whole  room-full  of  company.  He 
turned  deadly  pale  when  he  saw  the  writing,  but 
still  preserved  his  composure,  and  finished  the 
playful  warfare  of  badinage  which  he  was  at  the 
moment  carrying  on  with  a  lady  opposite  ;  and,  a 
short  time  after,  was  missed  from  the  circle.  In 
his  room,  alone,  he  opened  and  read  the  letter,  now 
worse  than  idle  and  useless  to  be  read.  It  was  from 
her,  giving  a  long  account  of  a  persecution  to  which 
she  had  been  exposed  by  her  guardian's  family,  to 
lead  her  to  unite  herself  with  their  son  :  and  she 
related  how,  for  a  long  time,  his  letters  had  ceased 
to  arrive  ;  how  she  had  written  time  and  again,  till 
she  became  weary  and  doubtful ;  how  her  health 
Tiad  failed  under  her  anxieties,  and  how,  at  last,  she 
had  discovered  the  whole  fraud  which  had  been 
practised  on  them  both.  The  letter  ended  with  ex- 
pressions of  hope  and  thankfulness,  and  professions 
of  undying  affection,  which  were  more  bitter  than 
death  to  the  unhappy  young  man.  He  wrote  to  her 
immediately. 

"  I  have  received  yours, — but  too  late.  I  believed 
all  I  heard.  I  was  desperate.  I  am  married,  and 
all  is  over.  Only  forget, — it  is  all  that  remains  for 
either  of  us." 

And  thus  ended  the  whole  romance  and  ideal  of 
life  for  Augustine  St.  Clare.  But  the  real  remained, 
— the  real,  like  the  flat,  bare,  oozy  tide-mud,  when 
the  blue   sparkling  wave,  with  all   its  company  of 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY. 


219 


gliding  boats  and  white-winged  ships,  its  music  of 
oars  and  chiming  waters,  has  gone  down,  and  there 
it  lies,  flat,  slimy,  bare, — exceedingly  real. 

Of  course,  in  a  novel,  people's  hearts  break,  and 
they  die,  and  that  is  the  end  of  it ;  and  in  a  story 
this  is  very  convenient.  But  in  real  life  we  do  not 
die  when  all  that  makes  life  bright  dies  to  us.  There 
is  a  most  busy  and  important  round  of  eating,  drink- 
ing, dressing,  walking,  visiting,  buying,  selling,  talk- 
ing, reading,  and  all  that  makes  up  what  is  com- 
monly called  living,  yet  to  be  gone  through  ;  and 
this  yet  remained  to  Augustine.  Had  his  wife  been 
a  whole  woman,  she  might  yet  have  done  something 
—as  woman  can — to  mend  the  broken  threads  of 
life,  and  weave  again  into  a  tissue  of  brightness. 
But  Marie  St.  Clare  could  not  even  see  that  they  had 
been  broken.  As  before  stated,  she  consisted  of  a 
fine  figure,  a  pair  of  splendid  eyes,  and  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  ;  and  none  of  these  items  were  pre- 
cisely the  ones  to  minister  to  a  mind  diseased. 

When  Augustine,  pale  as  death,  was  found  lying  on 
the  sofa,  and  pleaded  sudden  sick-headache  as  the 
cause  of  his  distress,  she  recommended  to  him  to 
smell  of  hartshorn ;  and  when  the  paleness  and 
headache  came  on  week  after  week,  she  only  said 
that  she  never  thought  Mr.  St.  Clare  was  sickly; 
but  it  seems  he  was  very  liable  to  sick-headaches, 
and  that  it  was  a  very  unfortunate  thing  for  her, 
because  he  didn't  enjoy  going  into  company  with 
her,  and  it  seemed  odd  to  go  so  much  alone,  when 
they  were  just  married.  Augustine  was  glad  in  his 
heart  that  he  had  married  so  undiscerning  a  woman  ; 
but  as  the  glosses  and  civilities  of  the  honeymoon 
wore  away,  he  discovered  that  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  who  has  lived  all  her  life  to  be  caressed 
16 


2  20  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

and  waited  on,  might  prove  quite  a  hard  mistress  in 
domestic  life.  Marie  never  had  possessed  much 
capability  of  affection,  or  much  sensibility,  and  the 
little  that  she  had,  had  been  merged  into  a  most 
intense  and  unconscious  selfishness  ;  a  selfishness 
the  more  hopeless,  from  its  quiet  obtuseness,  its 
utter  ignorance  of  any  claims  but  her  own.  From 
her  infancy,  she  had  been  surrounded  with  servants, 
who  lived  only  to  study  her  caprices  ;  the  idea  that 
they  had  either  feelings  or  rights  had  never  dawned 
upon  her,  even  in  distant  perspective.  Her  father, 
whose  only  child  she  had  been,  had  never  denied 
her  anything  that  lay  within  the  compass  of  human 
possibility  ;  and  when  she  entered  life,  beautiful,  ac- 
complished, and  an  heiress,  she  had,  of  course,  all 
the  eligibles  and  non-eligibles  of  the  other  sex  sigh- 
ing at  her  feet,  and  she  had  no  doubt  that  Augustine 
was  a  most  fortunate  man  in  having  obtained  her. 
It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  woman  with 
no  heart  will  be  an  easy  creditor  in  the  exchange  of 
affection.  There  is  not  on  earth  a  more  merciless 
exactor  of  love  from  others  than  a  thoroughly  self- 
ish woman  ;  and  the  more  unlovely  she  grows,  the 
more  jealously  and  scrupulously  she  exacts  love,  to 
the  uttermost  farthing.  When,  therefore,  St.  Clare 
began  to  drop  off  those  gallantries  and  small  atten- 
tions which  flowed  at  first  through  the  habitude  of 
courtship,  he  found  his  sultana  no  way  ready  to 
resign  her  slave ;  there  were  abundance  of  tears, 
poutings,  and  small  tempests,  there  were  discontents, 
pinings,  upbraidings.  St.  Clare  was  good-natured 
and  self-indulgent,  and  sought  to  buy  off  with 
presents  and  flatteries ;  and  when  Marie  became 
mother  to  a  beautiful  daughter,  he  really  felt  awak- 
ened, for  a  time,  to  something  like  tenderness. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  221 

St.  Clare's  mother  had  been  a  woman  of  uncom- 
mon elevation  and  purity  of  character,  and  he  gave 
to  this  child  his  mother's  name,  fondly  fancying 
that  she  would  prove  a  reproduction  of  her  image. 
The  thing  had  been  remarked  with  petulant  jealousy 
by  his  wife,  and  she  regarded  her  husband's  absorb- 
ing devotion  to  the  child  with  suspicion  and  dislike  ; 
all  that  was  given  to  her  seemed  so  much  taken 
from  herself.  From  the  time  of  the  birth  of  this 
child,  her  health  gradually  sunk.  A  life  of  constant 
inaction,  bodily  and  mental, — the  friction  of  cease- 
less ennui  and  discontent,  united  to  the  ordinary 
weakness  which  attended  the  period  of  maternity, 
— in  course  of  a  few  years  changed  the  blooming 
young  belle  into  a  yellow,  faded,  sickly  woman, 
whose  time  was  divided  among  a  variety  of  fanciful 
diseases,  and  wrho  considered  herself,  in  every  sense, 
the  most  ill-used  and  suffering   person  in  existence. 

There  was  no  end  of  her  various  complaints ; 
but  her  principal  forte  appeared  to  lie  in  sick-head- 
ache, which  sometimes  would  confine  her  to  her 
room  three  days  out  of  six.  As,  of  course,  all  family 
arrangements  fell  into  the  hands  of  servants,  St. 
Clare  found  his  menage  anything  but  comfortable. 
His  only  daughter  was  exceedingly  delicate,  and  he 
feared  that,  with  no  one  to  look  after  her  and  attend 
to  her,  her  health  and  life  might  yet  fall  a  sacrifice 
to    her  mother's    inefnciencv.     He    had  taken  her 

J 

with  him  on  a  tour  to  Vermont,  and  had  persuaded 
his  cousin,  Miss  Ophelia  St.  Clare,  to  return  with 
him  to  his  southern  residence  ;  and  they  are  now  re- 
turning on  this  boat,  where  we  have  introduced 
them  to  our  readers. 

And  now,  while  the  distant  domes  and  spires  of 
New  Orleans  rise  to  our  view,  there  is  yet  time  for 
an  introduction  to  Miss  Ophelia. 


22  2  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN:    OR, 

i 

Whoever  has  travelled  in  the  New  England  States 
will  remember,  in  some  cool  village,  the  large  farm- 
house, with  its  clean- swept  grassy  yard,  shaded  by 
the  dense  and  massive  foliage  of  the  sugar  maple  ; 
and  remember  the  air  of  order  and  stillness,  of  per- 
petuity and  unchanging  repose,  that  seemed  to 
breathe  over  the  whole  place.  Nothing  lost,  or  out 
of  order ;  not  a  picket  loose  in  the  fence,  not  a 
particle  of  litter  in  the  turfy  yard,  with  its  clumps 
of  lilac-bushes  growing  up  under  the  windows. 
Within,  he  will  remember  wide,  clean  rooms,  where 
nothing  ever  seems  to  be  doing  or  going  to  be  done, 
where  everything  is  once  and  forever  rigidly  in 
place,  and  where  all  household  arrangements  move 
with  the  punctual  exactness  of  the  old  clock  in  the 
corner.  In  the  family  "keeping-room,"  as  it  is 
termed,  he  will  remember  the  staid,  respectable  old 
book-case,  with  its  glass  doors,  where  Rollin's 
History,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  and  Scott's  Family  Bible,  stand  side  by 
side  in  decorous  order,  with  multitudes  of  other 
books,  equally  solemn  and  respectable.  There  are 
no  servants  in  the  house,  but  the  lady  in  the  snowy 
cap,  with  the  spectacles,  who  sits  sewing  every  after- 
noon among  her  daughters,  as  if  nothing  ever  had 
been  done,  or  were  to  be  done, — she  and  her  girls, 
in  some  long-forgotten  fore  part  of  the  day,  "  did  up 
the  woi'k"  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time,  probably, 
at  all  hours  when  you  would  see  them,  it  is  "  done 
up."  The  old  kitchen  floor  never  seems  stained  or 
spotted ;  the  tables,  the  chairs,  and  the  various 
cooking  utensils,  never  seem  deranged  or  disordered  ; 
though  three  and  sometimes  four  meals  a  day  are 
got  there,  though  the  family  washing  and  ironing  is 
there  performed,  and   though  pounds  of  butter  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  223 

cheese  are  in  some  silent  and  mysterious  manner 
there  brought  into  existence. 

On  such  a  farm,  in  such  a  house  and  family,  Miss 
Ophelia  had  spent  a  quiet  existence  of  some  forty- 
five  years,  when  her  cousin  invited  her  to  visit  his 
southern  mansion.  The  eldest  of  a  large  family,, 
she  was  still  considered  by  her  father  and  mother 
as  one  of  "  the  children,"  and  the  proposal  that  she 
should  go  to  Orleans  was  a  most  momentous  one 
to  the  family  circle.  The  old  gray-headed  father 
took  down  Morse's  Atlas  out  of  the  book-case,  and 
looked  out  the  exact  latitude  and  longitude ;  and 
read  Flint's  Travels  in  the  South  and  West,  to  make 
up  his  own  mind  as  to  the  nature  of  the  country. 

The  good  mother  inquired,  anxiously,  "  if  Orleans; 
was  n't  an  awful  wicked  place,"  saying,  "  that  it 
seemed  to  her  most  equal  to  going  to  the  Sandwich- 
Islands,  or  anywhere  among  the  heathen." 

It  was  known  at  the  minister's,  and  at  the  doc- 
tor's, and  at  Miss  Peabody's  milliner  shop,  that 
Ophelia  St.  Clare  was  "  talking  about "  going  away 
down  to  Orleans  with  her  cousin  ;  and  of  course  the 
whole  village  could  do  no  less  than  help  this  very 
important  process  of  talki?ig  about  the  matter.  The 
minister,  who  inclined  strongly  to  abolitionist  views, 
was  quite  doubtful  whether  such  a  step  might  not 
tend  somewhat  to  encourage  the  southerners  in  hold- 
ing on  to  their  slaves  ;  while  the  doctor,  who  was  a 
stanch  colonizationist,  inclined  to  the  opinion  that 
Miss  Ophelia  ought  to  go,  to  show  the  Orleans  peo- 
ple that  we  don't  think  hardly  of  them,  after  all. 
He  was  of  opinion,  in  fact,  that  southern  people 
needed  encouraging.  When,  however,  the  fact  that 
she  had  resolved  to  go  was  fully  before  the  public 
mind,  she  was  solemnly  invited  out  to  tea  by  all  her 


2  24  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIX  :    OR, 

friends  and  neighbors  for  the  space  of  a  fortnight, 
and  her  prospects  and  plans  duly  canvassed  and 
inquired  into.  Miss  Moseley,  who  came  into  the 
house  to  help  to  do  the  dress-making,  acquired  daily 
-accessions  of  importance  from  the  developments 
ivith  regard  to  Miss  Ophelia's  wardrobe  which  she 
had  been  enabled  to  make.  It  was  credibly  ascer- 
tained that  Squire  Sinclare,  as  his  name  was  com- 
monly contracted  in  the  neighborhood,  had  counted 
out  fifty  dollars,  and  given  them  to  Miss  Ophelia, 
and  told  her  to  buy  any  clothes  she  thought  best ; 
and  that  two  new  silk  dresses,  and  a  bonnet,  had 
been  sent  for  from  Boston.  As  to  the  propriety  of 
this  extraordinary  outlay,  the  public  mind  was 
divided, — some  affirming  that  it  was  well  enough,  all 
things  considered,  for  once  in  one's  life,  and  others 
stoutly  affirming  that  the  money  had  better  have  been 
sent  to  the  missionaries ;  but  all  parties  agreed  that 
there  had  been  no  such  parasol  seen  in  those  parts 
as  had  been  sent  on  from  New  York,  and  that  she 
had  one  silk  dress  that  might  fairly  be  trusted  to 
stand  alone,  whatever  might  be  said  of  its  mistress. 
There  were  credible  rumors,  also,  of  a  hemstitched 
pocket-handkerchief  ;  and  report  even  went  so  far 
as  to  state  that  Miss  Ophelia  had  one  pocket-hand- 
kerchief with  lace  all  around  it, — it  was  even  added 
that  it  was  worked  in  the  corners  ;  but  this  latter 
point  was  never  satisfactorily  ascertained,  and  re- 
mains, in  fact,  unsettled  to  this  day. 

Miss  Ophelia,  as  you  now  behold  her,  stands 
before  you,  in  a  very  shining  brown  linen  travelling- 
dress,  tall,  square-formed  and  angular.  Her  face 
was  thin,  and  rather  sharp  in  its  outlines ;  the  lips 
compressed,  like  those  of  a  person  who  is  in  the 
habit  of  making  up  her  mind  definitely  on  all  sub- 


LlFC    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  225 

jects ;  while  the  keen,  dark  eyes  had  a  peculiarly 
searching,  advised  movement,  and  travelled  over 
everything,  as  if  they  were  looking  for  something  to 
take  care  of. 

All  her  movements  were  sharp,  decided,  and 
energetic ;  and,  though  she  was  never  much  of  a 
talker,  her  words  were  remarkably  direct,  and  to  the 
purpose,  when  she  did  speak. 

In  her  habits,  she  was  a  living  impersonation  of 
order,  method,  and  exactness.  In  punctuality,  she 
was  as  inevitable  as  a  clock,  and  as  inexorable  as  a 
railroad  engine  •  and  she  held  in  most  decided  con- 
tempt and  abomination  anything  of  a  contrary 
character. 

The  great  sin  of  sins,  in  her  eyes, — the  sum  of  all 
evils, — was  expressed  by  one  very  common  and  im- 
portant word  in  her  vocabulary — "  shiftlessness." 
Her  finale  and  ultimatum  of  contempt  consisted  in 
a  very  emphatic  pronunciation  of  the  word  "  shift- 
less ;  "  and  by  this  she  characterized  all  modes  of 
procedure  which  had  not  a  direct  and  inevitable 
relation  to  accomplishment  of  some  purpose  then 
definitely  had  in  mind.  People  who  did  nothing,  or 
who  did  not  know  exactly  what  they  were  going  to 
do,  or  who  did  not  take  the  most  direct  way  to  ac- 
complish what  they  set  their  hands  to,  were  objects 
of  her  entire  contempt, — a  contempt  shown  less 
frequently  by  anything  she  said,  than  by  a  kind  of 
stony  grimness,  as  if  she  scorned  to  say  anything 
about  the  matter. 

As  to  mental  cultivation, — she  had  a  clear,  strong, 
active  mind,  was  well  and  thoroughly  read  in  history 
and  the  older  English  classics,  and  thought  with 
great  strength  within  certain  narrow  limits.  Her 
theological  tenets  were  all  made  up,  labelled  in  most 


226  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    ORT 

positive  and  distinct  forms,  and  put  by,  like  the 
bundles  in  her  patch  trunk  ;  there  were  just  so  many 
of  them,  and  there  were  never  to  be  any  more.  So, 
also,  were  her  ideas  with  regard  to  'most  matters 
of  practical  life, — such  as  housekeeping  in  all  its 
branches,  and  the  various  political  relations  of  her 
native  village.  And,  underlaying  all,  deeper  than 
anything  else,  higher  and  broader,  lay  the  strongest 
principle  of  her  being: — conscientiousness.  No- 
where is  conscience  so  dominant  and  all-absorbing 
as  with  New  England  women.  It  is  the  granite 
formation,  which  lies  deepest,  and  rises  out,,  even  to 
the  tops  of  the  highest  mountains. 

Miss  Ophelia  was  the  absolute  bond-slave  of  the 
" ought"  Once  make  her  certain  that  the  "  path  of 
duty,"  as  she  commonly  phrased  it,  lay  in  any  given 
direction,  and  fire  and  water  could  not  keep  herfrom 
it.  She  would  walk  straight  down  into  a  well,  or  up 
to  a  loaded  cannon's  mouth,  if  she  were  only  quite 
sure  that  there  the  path  lay.  Her  standard  of  right 
was  so  high,  so  all-embracing,  so  minute,  and  making 
so  few  concessions  to  human  frailty,  that,  though 
she  strove  with  heroic  ardor  to  reach  it,  she  never 
actually  did  so,  and  of  course  was  burdened  with  a 
constant  and  often  harassing  sense  of  deficiency  ; — 
this  gave  a  severe  and  somewhat  gloomy  east  to  her 
religious  character. 

But,  how  in  the  world  can  Miss  Ophelia  get  along 
with  Augustine  St.  Clare, — gay,  easy,  unpunctuai, 
unpractical,  sceptical, — in  short,  walking  with  im- 
pudent and  nonchalant  freedom  over  every  one  of 
her  most  cherished  habits  and  opinions  ? 

To  tell  the  truth,  then,  Miss  Ophelia  loved  him. 
When  a  boy,  it  had  been  hers  to  teach  him  his  cate- 
chism, mend  his  clothes,  comb  his  hair,  and  bring  him 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  2  2/ 

up  generally  in  the  way  he  should  go  ;  and  her  heart 
having  a  warm  side  to  it,  Augustine  had,  as  he 
usually  did  with  most  people,  monopolized  a  large 
share  of  it  for  himself,  and  therefore  it  was  that  he 
succeeded  very  easily  in  persuading  her  that  the 
"  path  of  duty  "  lay  in  the  direction  of  New  Orleans, 
and  that  she  must  go  with  him  to  take  care  of  Eva, 
and  keep  everything  from  going  to  wreck  and  ruin 
during  the  frequent  illnesses  of  his  wife.  The  idea 
of  a  house  without  anybody  to  take  care  of  it  went 
to  her  heart ;  then  she  loved  the  lovely  little  girl,  as 
few  could  help  doing;  and  though  she  regarded 
Augustine  as  very  much  of  a  heathen,  yet  she  loved 
him,  laughed  at  his  jokes,  and  forbore  with  his  fail- 
ings, to  an  extent  which  those  who  knew  him 
thought  perfectly  incredible.  But  what  more  01 
other  is  to  be  known  of  Miss  Ophelia  our  readet 
must  discover  by  a  personal  acquaintance. 

There  she  is,  sitting  now  in  her  state-room,  sur- 
rounded by  a  mixed  multitude  of  little  and  big  car- 
pet-bags, boxes,  baskets,  each  containing  some 
separate  responsibility  which  she  is  tying,  binding 
up,  packing,  or  fastening,  with  a  face  of  great 
earnestness. 

"  Now,  Eva,  have  you  kept  count  of  your  things  ? 
Of  course  you  have  n't, — children  never  do  :  there  's 
the  spotted  carpet-bag  and  the  little  blue  band-box 
with  your  best  bonnet, — that  's  two  ;  then  the  India 
rubber  satchel  is  three;  and  my  tape  and  needle 
box  is  four  ;  and  my  band-box,  five  ;  and  my  collar- 
box,  six ;  and  that  little  hair  trunk,  seven.  What 
have  you  done  with  your  sunshade  ?  Give  it  to  me, 
and  let  me  put  a  paper  round  it,  and  tie  it  to  my 
umbrella  with  my  shade  ; — there,  now." 

"  Why,  aunty,  we  are  only  going  up  home  ; — what 
is  the  use  ?  " 


2  25  UNCLE   TOMS   CABIN:   OR, 

i  To  keep  it  nice,  child  ;  people  must  take  care  of 
their  things,  if  they  ever  mean  to  have  anything ; 
and  now,  Eva,  is  your  thimble  put  up  ?  " 

"  Really,  aunty,  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  never  mind ,  I  '11  look  your  box  over, — 
thimble,  wax,  two  spools,  scissors,  knife,  tape-needle; 
all  right, — put  it  in  here.  What  did  you  ever  do, 
child,  when  you  were  coming  on  with  only  your 
papa.  I  should  have  thought  you  'd  a  lost  every- 
thing you  had." 

"  Well,  aunty,  I  did  lose  a  great  many  •  and  then, 
when  we  stopped  anywhere,  papa  would  buy  some 
more  of  whatever  it  was." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  child, — what  a  way  !  " 

"  It  was  a  very  easy  way,  aunty,"  said  Eva. 

"  It  's  a  dreadful  shiftless  one,"  said  aunty. 

"  Why,  aunty,  what  '11  you  do  now  ? "  said  Eva  ; 
"that ./trunk  is  too  full  to  be  shut  down." 

"  It  must  shut  down,"  said  aunty,  with  the  air  of 
a  general,  as  she  squeezed  the  things  in,  and  sprung 
upon  the  lid  ; — still  a  little  gap  remained  about  the 
mouth  of  the  trunk. 

"  Get  up  here,  Eva !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  coura- 
geously ;  "  what  has  been  done  can  be  done  again. 
This  trunk  has  got  to  be  shut  and  locked — there  are 
no  two  ways  about  it." 

And  the  trunk,  intimidated,  doubtless,  by  this 
resolute  statement,  gave  in.  The  hasp  snapped 
sharply  in  its  hole,  and  Miss  Ophelia  turned  the 
key,  and  pocketed  it  in  triumph. 

"  Now  we  're  ready.  Where  's  your  papa  ?  I 
think  it  time  this  baggage  was  set  out.  Do  look 
out,  Eva,  and  see  if  you  see  your  papa." 

"  O  yes,  he  's  down  the  other  end  of  the  gentle- 
men's cabin,  eating  an  orange." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  229 

"  He  can't  know  how  near  we  are  coming,"  said 
aunty;  "hadn't  you  better  run  and  speak  to 
him  ? " 

"  Papa  never  is  in  a  hurry  about  anything,"  said 
Eva,  "  and  we  have  n't  come  to  the  landing.  Do 
step  on  the  guards,  aunty.  Look !  there 's  our 
house,  up  that  street !  " 

The  boat  now  began,  with  heavy  groans,  like 
some  vast,  tired  monster,  to  prepare  to  push  up 
among  the  multiplied  steamers  at  the  levee.  Eva 
joyously  pointed  out  the  various  spires,  domes,  and 
way-marks,  by  which  she  recognized  her  native 
city. 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear  ;  very  fine,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 
*  But  mercy  on  us  !  the  boat  has  stopped  !  where  is 
your  father  ? " 

And  now  ensued  the  usual  turmoil  of  landing — 
waiters  running  twenty  ways  at  once — men  tugging 
trunks,  carpet-bags,  boxes — women  anxiously  call- 
ing to  their  children,  and  everybody  crowding  in  a 
dense  mass  to  the  plank  towards  the  landing. 

Miss  Ophelia  seated  herself  resolutely  on  the 
lately  vanquished  trunk,  and  marshalling  all  her 
goods  and  chattels  in  fine  military  order,  seemed 
Tesolved  to  defend  them  to  the  last. 

"  Shall  I  take  your  trunk,  ma'am  ?  "  "  Shall  I 
take  your  baggage  ?  "  "  Let  me  'tend  to  your  bag- 
gage, Missis  ? "  "  Shan't  I  carry  out  these  yer, 
Missis  ?  "  rained  down  upon  her  unheeded.  She 
sat  with  grim  determination,  upright  as  a  darning- 
needle  stuck  in  a  board,  holding  on  her  bundle  of 
umbrella  and  parasols,  and  replying  with  a  deter- 
mination that  was  enough  to  strike  dismay  even  into 
a  hackman,  wondering  to  Eva,  in  each  interval, 
'"  what  upon  earth  her  papa  could  be  thinking  of ; 


230  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

he  could  n't  have  fallen  over,  now, — but  something 
must  have  happened  ;  "- — and  just  as  she  had  begun 
to  work  herself  into  a  real  distress,  he  came  up, 
with  his  usually  careless,  motion,  and  giving  Eva  a 
quarter  of  the  orange  he  was  eating,  said, 

"Well,  Cousin  Vermont,  I  suppose  you  are  all 
ready." 

"  I  've  been  ready,  waiting,  nearly  an  hour,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia  ;  "  I  began  to  be  really  concerned 
about  you." 

"  That  rs  a  clever  fellow,  now,"  said  he.  "  Well, 
the  carriage  is  waiting,  and  the  crowd  are  now  off, 
so  that  one  can  walk  out  in  a  decent  and  Christian 
manner,  and  not  be  pushed  and  shoved.  Here," 
he  added  to  a  driver  who  stood  behind  him,  "  take 
these  things." 

"  I  '11  go  and  see  to  his  putting  them  in,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia. 

"  O,  pshaw,  cousin,  what 's  the  use  ?  "  said  St. 
Clare. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  '11  carry  this,  and  this,  and 
this,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  singling  out  three  boxes  and 
a  small  carpet  bag. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Vermont,  positively,  you  mustn't 
come  the  Green  Mountains  over  us  that  way.  You 
must  adopt  at  least  a  piece  of  a  southern  principle, 
and  not  walk  out  under  all  that  load.  They  '11  take 
you  for  a  waiting-maid ;  give  them  to  this  fellow ; 
he  '11  put  them  down  as  if  they  were  eggs,  now." 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  despairingly,  as  her  cousin 
took  all  her  treasures  from  her,  and  rejoiced  to  find 
herself  once  more  in  the  carriage  with  them,  in  a 
state  of  preservation. 

"  Where  's  Tom  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  Oh,  he  's  on  the  outside,  Pussy.     I  'm  going  to 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  23 1 

take  Tom  up  to  mother  for  a  peace-offering,  to  make 
up  for  that  drunken  fellow  that  upset  the  carriage." 

"  O,  Tom  will  make  a  splendid  driver,  I  know," 
said  Eva  ;  "  he  '11  never  get  drunk." 

The  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  an  ancient  man- 
sion, built  in  that  odd  mixture  of  Spanish  and 
French  style,  of  which  there  are  specimens  in  some 
parts  of  New  Orleans.  It  was  built  in  the  Moorish 
fashion, — a  square  building  enclosing  a  court-yard, 
into  which  the  carriage  drove  through  an  arched 
gateway.  The  court,  in  the  inside,  had  evidently 
been  arranged  to  gratify  a  picturesque  and  volup- 
tuous ideality.  Wide  galleries  ran  all  around  the 
four  sides,  whose  Moorish  arches,  slender  pillars, 
and  arabesque  ornaments,  carried  the  mind  back, 
as  in  a  dream,  to  the  reign  of  oriental  romance  in 
Spain.  In  the  middle  of  the  court,  a  fountain  threw 
high  its  silvery  water,  falling  in  a  never-ceasing 
spray  into  a  marble  basin,  fringed  with  a  deep  bor- 
der of  fragrant  violets.  The  water  in  the  fountain, 
pellucid  as  crystal,  was  alive  with  myriads  of  gold 
and  silver  fishes,  twinkling  and  darting  through  it 
like  so  many  living  jewels.  Around  the  fountain 
ran  a  walk,  paved  with  a  mosaic  of  pebbles,  laid  in 
various  fanciful  patterns  ;  and  this,  again,  was  sur- 
rounded by  turf,  smooth  as  green  velvet,  while 
a  carriage-drive  enclosed  the  whole.  Two  large 
orange-trees,  now  fragrant  with  blossoms,  threw  a 
delicious  shade  ;  and,  ranged  in  a  circle  round  upon 
the  turf,  were  marble  vases  of  arabesque  sculpture, 
containing  the  choicest  flowering  plants  of  the 
tropics.  Huge  pomegranate  trees,  with  their  glossy 
leaves  and  flame-colored  flowers,  dark-leaved  Ara- 
bian jessamines,  with  their  silvery  stars,  geraniums, 
luxuriant  roses  bending  beneath  their  heavy  abun- 


232  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

dance  of  flowers,  golden  jessamines,  lemon-scented 
verbenum,  all  united  their  bloom  and  fragrance., 
while  here  and  there  a  mystic  old  aloe,  with  its 
strange,  massive  leaves,  sat  looking  like  some  hoary 
old  enchanter,  sitting  in  weird  grandeur  among  the 
more  perishable  bloom  and  fragrance  around  it. 

The  galleries  that  surrounded  the  court  were  fes- 
tooned with  a  curtain  of  some  kind  of  Moorish 
stuff,  and  could  be  drawn  down  at  pleasure,  to  ex- 
clude the  beams  of  the  sun.  On  the  whole,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  place  was  luxurious  and  romantic. 

As  the  carriage  drove  in,  Eva  seemed  like  a  bird 
ready  to  burst  from  a  cage,  with  the  wild  eagerness 
of  her  delight. 

"  O,  is  n't  it  beautiful,  lovely  !  my  own  dear,  dar- 
ling home  !  "  she  said  to  Miss  Ophelia.  "  Is  n't  it 
beautiful  ? " 

"  'T  is  a  pretty  place,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  as  she 
alighted  ;  "  though  it  looks  rather  old  and  heathen- 
ish to  me." 

Tom  got  down  from  the  carriage,  and  looked 
about  with  an  air  of  calm,  still  enjoyment.  The 
negro,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  an  exotic  of  the 
most  gorgeous  and  superb  countries  of  the  world, 
and  he  has,  deep  in  his  heart,  a  passion  for  all  that 
is  splendid,  rich,  and  fanciful ;  a  passion  which, 
rudely  indulged  by  an  untrained  taste,  draws  on 
them  the  ridicule  of  the  colder  and  more  correct 
white  race. 

St.  Clare,  who  was  in  his  heart  a  poetical  volup- 
tuary, smiled  as  Miss  Ophelia  made  her  remark  on 
his  premises,  and,  turning  to  Tom,  who  was  stand- 
ing looking  round,  his  beaming  black  face  perfectly 
radiant  with  admiration,  he  said, 

"  Tom,  my  boy,  this  seems  to  suit  you." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  233 

"  Yes,  Mas'r,  it  looks  about  the  right  thing,"  said 
Tom. 

All  this  passed  in  a  moment,  while  trunks  were 
being  hustled  off,  hackman  paid,  and  while  a  crowd, 
of  all  ages  and  sizes, — men,  women,  and  children, 
— came  running  through  the  galleries,  both  above 
and  below,  to  see  Mas'r  come  in.  Foremost  among 
them  was  a  highly-dressed  young  mulatto  man,  evi- 
dently a  very  distingue  personage,  attired  in  the  ultra 
extreme  of  the  mode,  and  gracefully  waving  a 
scented  cambric  handkerchief  in  his  hand. 

This  personage  had  been  exerting  himself,  with 
great  alacrity,  in  driving  all  the  flock  of  domestics 
to  the  other  end  of  the  verandah. 

"  Back  !  all  of  you.  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  authority.  *  Would  you  intrude 
on  Master's  domestic  relations,  in  the  first  hour  of 
his  return  ? " 

All  looked  abashed  at  this  elegant  speech,  deliv- 
ered with  quite  an  air,  and  stood  huddled  together 
at  a  respectful  distance,  except  two  stout  porters, 
who  came  up  and  began  conveying  away  the  bag- 
gage. ■ 

Owing  to  Mr.  Adolph's  systematic  arrangements, 
when  St.  Clare  turned  round  from  paying  the  hack- 
man,  there  was  nobody  in  view  but  Mr.  Adolph 
himself,  conspicuous  in  satin  vest,  gold  guard-chain, 
and  white  pants,  and  bowing  with  inexpressible 
grace  and  suavity. 

"  Ah,  Adolph,  is  it  you  ?  "  said  his  master,  offer- 
ing his  hand  to  him  ;  "  how  are  you,  boy  ? "  while 
Adolph  poured  forth,  with  great  fluency,  an  extem- 
porary speech,  which  he  had  been  preparing,  with 
great  care,  for  a  fortnight  before. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  St.  Clare,  passing  on,  with  his 


234  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

usual  air  of  negligent  drollery,  "  that  's  very  well 
got  up,  Adolph.  See  that  the  baggage  is  well  be- 
stowed. I  '11  come  to  the  people  in  a  minute ;  " 
and,  so  saying,  he  led  Miss  Ophelia  to  a  large  par- 
lor that  opened  on  to  the  verandah. 

While  this  had  been  passing,  Eva  had  flown  like 
a  bird,  through  the  porch  and  parlor,  to  a  little  bou- 
doir opening  likewise  on  the  verandah. 

A  tall,  dark-eyed,  sallow  woman,  half  rose  from  a 
couch  on  which  she  was  reclining. 

"  Mamma  !  "  said  Eva,  in  a  sort  of  a  rapture, 
throwing  herself  on  her  neck,  and  embracing  her 
over  and  over  again. 

"  That  '11  do, — take  care,  child, — don't,  you  make 
my  head  ache,"  said  the  mother,  after  she  had  lan- 
guidly kissed  her. 

St.  Clare  came  in,  embraced  his  wife  in  true, 
orthodox,  husbandly  fashion,  and  then  presented  to 
her  his  cousin.  Marie  lifted  her  large  eyes  on  her 
cousin  with  an  air  of  some  curiosity,  and  received 
her  with  languid  politeness.  A  crowd  of  servants 
now  pressed  to  the  entry  door,  and  among  them  a 
middle-aged  mulatto  woman,  of  very  respectable 
appearance,  stood  foremost,  in  a  tremor  of  expecta- 
tion and  joy,  at  the  door. 

"  O,  there  's  Mammy !  "  said  Eva,  as  she  flew 
across  the  room  ;  and,  throwing  herself  into  her 
arms,  she  kissed  her  repeatedly. 

This  woman  did  not  tell  her  that  she  made  her 
head  ache,  but,  on  the  contrary,  she  hugged  her, 
and  laughed,  and  cried,  till  her  sanity  was  a  thing 
to  be  doubted  of  ;  and  when  released  from  her,  Eva 
flew  from  one  to  another,  shaking  hands  and  kiss- 
ing, in  a  way  that  Miss  Ophelia  afterwards  declared 
fairly  turned  her  stomach. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  235 

*'  Well !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  you  southern  chil- 
dren can  do  something  that  /could  n't." 

"  What,  now,  pray  ? "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  be  kind  to  everybody,  and  I 
would  n't  have  anything  hurt ;  but  as  to  kissing — " 

"  Niggers,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  that  you  're  not  up 
to— hey  ? " 

"  Yes,  that  's  it.     How  can  she  ?  " 

St.  Clare  laughed,  as  he  went  into  the  passage. 
"  Halloa,  here,  what  's  to  pay  out  here  ?  Here,  you 
all — Mammy,  Jimmy,  Polly,  Sukey — glad  to  see 
Mas'r  ? "  he  said,  as  he  went  shaking  hands  from 
one  to  another.  "  Look  out  for  the  babies  !  "  he 
added,  as  he  stumbled  over  a  sooty  little  urchin, 
who  was  crawling  upon  all  fours.  "  If  I  step  upon 
anybody,  let  'em  mention  it." 

There  was  an  abundance  of  laughing  and  blessing 
Mas'r,  as  St.  Clare  distributed  small  pieces  of  change 
among  them. 

"  Come,  now,  take  yourselves  off,  like  good  boys 
and  girls,"  he  said ;  and  the  whole  assemblage, 
dark  and  light,  disappeared  through  a  door  into  a 
large  verandah,  followed  by  Eva,  who  carried  a  large 
satchel,  which  she  had  been  filling  with  apples,  nuts, 
candy,  ribbons,  laces,  and  toys  of  every  description, 
during  her  whole  homeward  journey. 

As  St.  Clare  turned  to  go  back,  his  eye  fell  upon 
Tom,  who  was  standing  uneasily,  shifting  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  while  Adolph  stood  negligently 
leaning  against  the  banisters,  examining  Tom  through 
an  opera-glass,  with  an  air  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  any  dandy  living. 

"  Puh  !  you  puppy,"  said  his  master,  striking 
down  the  opera  glass  ;  "  is  that  the  way  you  treat 
your  company  ?     Seems  to  me,  Dolph,"  he  added, 

17 


236  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

laying  his  finger  on  the  elegant  figured  satin  vest 
that  Adolph  was  sporting,  "  seems  to  me  that 's  my 
vest." 

"  O  !  Master,  this  vest  all  stained  with  wine !  of 
course,  a  gentleman  in  Master's  standing  never 
wears  a  vest  like  this.  I  understood  I  was  to  take 
it.     It  does  for  a  poor  nigger-fellow,  like  me." 

And  Adolph  tossed  his  head,  and  passed  his  fin- 
gers through  his  scented  hair,  with  a  grace. 

"  So,  that 's  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  carelessly. 
"  Well  here,  I  'm  going  to  show  this  Tom  to  his  mis- 
tress, and  then  you  take  him  to  the  kitchen ;  and 
mind  you  don't  put  on  any  of  your  airs  to  him.  He 's 
worth  two  such  puppies  as  you." 

"  Master  always  will  have  his  joke,"  said  Adolph, 
laughing.  "  I  'm  delighted  to  see  Master  in  such, 
spirits." 

"  Here,  Tom,"  said  St.  Clare,  beckoning. 

Tom  entered  the  room.  He  looked  wistfully  on 
the  velvet  carpets,  and  the  before  unimagined  splen- 
dors of  mirrors,  pictures,  statues,  and  curtains,  and, 
like  the  Queen  of  Sheba  before  Solomon,  there  was 
no  more  spirit  in  him.  He  looked  afraid  even  to 
set  his  feet  down. 

"See  here,  Marie,"  said  St.  Clare  to  his  wife, 
"  I  've  bought  you  a  coachman,  at  last,  to  order.  I 
tell  you,  he  's  a  regular  hearse  for  blackness  and 
sobriety,  and  will  drive  you  like  a  funeral,  if  you 
want.  Open  your  eyes,  now,  and  look  at  him.  Now, 
don't  say  I  never  think  about  you  when  I  'm 
gone." 

Marie  opened  her  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  Tom, 
without  rising. 

"  I  know  he  '11  get  drunk,"  she  said. 

"  No,  he  's  warranted  a  pious  and  sober  article.,> 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  237 

"  Well,  I  hope  he  may  turn  out  well,"  said  the 
lady  ;  "  it's  more  than  I  expect,  though." 

"  Dolph,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  show  Tom  downstairs  ; 
and,  mind  yourself,"  he  added ;  "  remember  what  I 
told  you." 

Adolph  tripped  gracefully  forward,  and  Tom,  with 
I  lumbering  tread,  went  after. 
■       "  He 's  a  perfect  behemoth  !  "  s*aid  Marie. 

"Come,  now,  Marie,"  said  St.  Clare,  seating  him- 
self on  a  stool  beside  her  sofa,  "be  gracious,  and 
say  something  pretty  to  a  fellow." 

"  You  've  been  gone  a  fortnight  beyond  the  time," 
said  the  lady,  pouting. 

"  Well,  you  know  I  wrote  you  the  reason." 

"  Such  a  short,  cold  letter  !  "  said  the  lady. 

"  Dear  me  !  the  mail  was  just  going,  and  it  had 
to  be  that  or  nothing." 

"That's  just  the  way,  always,"  said  the  lady; 
"  always  something  to  make  your  journeys  long,  and 
letters  short." 

"  See  here,  now,"  he  added,  drawing  an  elegant 
velvet  case  out  of  his  pocket,  and  opening  it,  "here's 
a  present  I  got  for  you  in  New  York." 

It  was  a  daguerreotype,  clear  and  soft  as  an  en- 
graving, representing  Eva  and  her  father  sitting 
hand  in  hand. 

Marie  looked  at  it  with  a  dissatisfied  air. 

"  What  made  you  sit  in  such  an  awkward  position  ?  V 
she  said. 

"  Well,  the  position  may  be  a  matter  of  opinion  ; 
but  what  do  you  think  of  the  likeness  ? " 

"  If  you  don't  think  anything  of  my  opinion  in  one 
case,  I  suppose  you  would  n't  in  another,"  said  the 
lady,  shutting  the  daguerreotype. 

"  Hang  the  woman  !  "  said   St.    Clare,   mentally ; 


238  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

but  aloud  he  added,  "  Come,  now,  Marie,  what  do 
you  think  of  the  likeness  ?  Don't  be  nonsensical, 
now." 

"  It 's  very  inconsiderate  of  you,  St.  Clare,"  said  the 
lady,  "  to  insist  on  my  talking  and  looking  at  things. 
You  know  I  've  been  lying  all  day  with  the  sick- 
headache  ;  and  there  's  been  such  tumult  made  ever 
since  you  came,  I  'm  half  dead." 

"  You  're  subject  to  the  sick-headache,  ma'am  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  suddenly  rising  from  the  depths 
of  the  large  arm-chair,  where  she  had  sat  quietly, 
taking  an  inventory  of  the  furniture,  and  calculating 
its  expense. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  a  perfect  martyr  to  it,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  Juniper-berry  tea  is  good  for  sick-headache," 
said  Miss  Ophelia  ;  "  at  least,  Auguste,  Deacon 
Abraham  Perry's  wife,  used  to  say  so ;  and  she  was 
a  great  nurse."  , 

"  I  '11  have  the  first  juniper-berries  that  get  ripe 
in  our  garden  by  the  lake  brought  in  for  that  especial 
purpose,"  said  St.  Clare,  gravely  pulling  the  bell  as 
he  did  so  ;  "  meanwhile,  cousin,  you  must  be  want- 
ing to  retire  to  your  apartment,  and  refresh  yourself 
a  little,  after  your  journey.  Dolph,"  he  added, 
"  tell  Mammy  to  come  here."  The  decent  mulatto 
woman  whom  Eva  had  caressed  so  rapturously  soon 
entered ;  she  was  dressed  neatly,  with  a  high  red 
and  yellow  turban  on  her  head,  the  recent  gift  of 
Eva,  and  which  the  child  had  been  arranging  on  her 
head.  "Mammy,"  said  St.  Clare,  "I  put  this  lady 
under  your  care  ;  she  is  tired,  and  wants  rest ;  take 
her  to  her  chamber,  and  be  sure  she  is  made  com- 
fortable ; "  and  Miss  Ophelia  disappeared  in  the 
rear  of  Mammy. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  239 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

tom's  mistress  and  her  opinions. 

"  And  now,  Marie,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  your  golden 
days  are  dawning.  Here  is  our  practical,  business- 
like New  England  cousin,  who  will  take  the  whole 
budget  of  cares  off  your  shoulders,  and  give  you 
time  to  refresh  yourself,  and  grow  young  and  hand- 
some. The  ceremony  of  delivering  the  keys  had 
better  come  off  forthwith." 

This  remark  was  made  at  the  breakfast-table,  a 
few  mornings  after  Miss  Ophelia  had  arrived. 

"  I  'm  sure  she  's  welcome,"  said  Marie,  leaning 
her  head  languidly  on  her  hand.  "  I  think  she  '11 
find  one  thing,  if  she  does,  and  that  is,  that  it  's  we 
mistresses  that  are  the  slaves,  down  here." 

"  O,  certainly,  she  will  discover  that,  and  a  world 
of  wholesome  truths  besides,  no  doubt,"  said  St. 
Clare. 

"  Talk  about  our  keeping  slaves,  as  if  we  did  it 
for  our  convenience"  said  Marie.  "  I  'm  sure,  if  we 
consulted  that,  we  might  let  them  all  go  at  once." 

Evangeline  fixed  her  large,  serious  eyes  on  her 
mother's  face,  with  an  earnest  and  perplexed  expres- 
sion, and  said,  simply,  "  What  do  you  keep  them  for, 
mamma  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,  except  for  a  plague  ; 
they  are  the  plague  of  my  life.  I  believe  that  more 
of  my  ill  heath  is  caused  by  them  than  by  any  one 
thing ;  and  ours,  I  know,  are  the  very  worst  that 
ever  anybody  was  plagued  with." 

"  O,  come,  Marie,  you  've  got  the  blues,  this 
morning,"  said  St.  Clare.     "  You  know  't  is  n't  so. 


240  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

There  's   Mammy,  the  best  creature  living, — what 
could  you  do  without  her  ?  " 

"  Mammy  is  the  best  I  ever  knew,"  said  Marie ; 
"  and  yet  Mammy,  now,  is  selfish — dreadfully  sel- 
fish ;  it  's  the  fault  of  the  whole  race." 

"  Selfishness  is  a  dreadful  fault,"  said  St.  Clare, 
gravely. 

"  Well,  now,  there's  Mammy,"  said  Marie,  "  I  think 
It's  selfish  of  her  to  sleep  so  sound  nights  ;  she  knows 
I  need  little  attentions  almost  every  hour,  when  my 
worst  turns  are  on,  and  yet  she'  s  so  hard  to  wake. 
I  absolutely  am  worse,  this  very  morning,  for  the 
efforts  I  had  to  make  to  wake  her  last  night." 

"  Has  n't  she  sat  up  with  you  a  good  many  nights, 
lately,  mamma  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  How   should   you   know   that  ? "    said    Marie, 
sharply;  "she  's  been  complaining,  I  suppose." 

"  She  did  n't  complain  ;  she  only  told  me  what 
t>ad  nights  you  'd  had, — so  many  in  succession." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  Jane  or  Rosa  take  her  place, 
a  night  or  two,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  and  let  her  rest  ? " 

"  How  can  you  propose  it  ?  "  said  Marie.  "  St. 
Clare,  you  really  are  inconsiderate.  So  nervous  as  I 
am,  the  least  breath  disturbs  me  ;  and  a  strange  hand 
about  me  would  drive  me  absolutely  frantic.  If 
Mammy  felt  the  interest  in  me  she  ought  to,  she  'd 
wake  easier, — of  course,  she  would.  I  've  heard  of 
people  who  had  such  devoted  servants,  but  it  never 
was  my  luck;"  and  Marie  sighed. 

Miss  Ophelia  had  listened  to  this  conversation 
Avith  an  air  of  shrewd,  observant  gravity ;  and  she 
still  kept  her  lips  tightly  compressed,  as  if  deter- 
mined fully  to  ascertain  her  longitude  and  position, 
before  she  committed  herself. 
.  "  Now,  Mammy  has    a    sort  of   goodness,"    said 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  241 

Marie  ;  "  she  's  smooth  and  respectful,  but  she  }s  sel- 
fish at  heart.  Now,  she  never  will  be  done  fidgeting 
and  worrying  about  that  husband  of  hers.  You  see, 
when  I  was  married  and  came  to  live  here,  of  course, 
I  had  to  bring  her  with  me,  and  her  husband  my 
father  could  n't  spare.  He  was  a  blacksmith,  and, 
of  course,  very  necessary ;  and  I  thought  and  said, 
at  the  time,  that  Mammy  and  he  had  better  give  each 
other  up,  as  it  was  n't  likely  to  be  convenient  for 
them  ever  to  live  together  again.  I  wish,  now,  I  'd 
insisted  on  it,  and  married  Mammy  to  somebody 
else  ;  but  I  was  foolish  and  indulgent,  and  did  n't 
want  to  insist.  I  told  Mammy,  at  the  time,  that  she 
must  n't  ever  expect  to  see  him  more  than  once  or 
twice  in  her  life  again,  for  the  air  of  father's  place  does 
n't  agree  with  my  health,  and  I  can't  go  there  ;  and  I 
advised  her  to  take  up  with  somebody  else  ;  but  no 
— she  would  n't.  Mammy  has  a  kind  of  obstinacy 
about  her,  in  spots,  that  everybody  don't  see  as  I  do." 

"  Has  she  children  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"Yes;  she  has  two." 

"  I  suppose  she  feels  the  separation  from  them  ?  " 

*■  Well,  of  course,  I  could  n't  bring  them.  They 
were  little  dirty  things — I  could  n't  have  them 
about ;  and,  besides,  they  took  up  too  much  of  her 
time  ;  but  I  believe  that  Mammy  has  always  kept 
up  a  sort  of  sulkiness  about  this.  She  won't  marry 
anybody  else ;  and  I  do  believe,  now,  though  she 
knows  how  necessary  she  is  to  me,  and  how  feeble 
my  health  is,  she  would  go  back  to  her  husband  to- 
morrow, if  she  only  could.  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Marie  ; 
"  they  are  just  so  selfish,  now,  the  best  of  them." 

"  It 's  distressing  to  reflect  upon,"  said  St.  Clare, 
dryly. 

Miss  Ophelia   looked  keenly   at   him,    and    saw 


242  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

the  flush  of  mortification  and  repressed  vexation, 
and  the  sarcastic  curl  of  the  lip,  as  he  spoke. 

"  Now,  Mammy  has  always  been  a  pet  with  me," 
said  Marie.  "  I  wish  some  of  your  northern  serv- 
ants could  look  at  her  closets  of  dresses, — silks 
and  muslins,  and  one  real  linen  cambric,  she  has 
hanging  there.  I  've  worked  sometimes  whole 
afternoons,  trimming  her  caps,  and  getting  her  ready 
to  go  to  a  party.  As  to  abuse,  she  don't  know 
what  it  is.  She  never  was  whipped  more  than  once 
or  twice  in  her  whole  life.  She  has  her  strong 
coffee  or  her  tea  every  day,  with  white  sugar  in  it. 
It 's  abominable,  to  be  sure  ;  but  St.  Clare  will  have 
high  life  below-stairs,  and  they  every  one  of  them 
live  just  as  they  please.  The  fact  is,  our  servants 
are  over-indulged.  I  suppose  it  is  partly  our  fault 
that  they  are  selfish,  and  act  like  spoiled  children ; 
but  I  've  talked  to  St.  Clare  till  I  am  tired." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  St.  Clare,  taking  up  the  morn- 
ing paper. 

Eva,  the  beautiful  Eva,  had  stood  listening  to  her 
mother,  with  that  expression  of  deep  and  mystic 
earnestness  which  was  peculiar  to  her.  She  walked 
softly  round  to  her  mother's  chair,  and  put  her  arms 
round  her  neck. 

"  Well,  Eva,  what  now  ?  "  said  Marie. 

"  Mamma,  could  n't  I  take  care  of  you  one  night 
— just  one  ?  I  know  I  should  n't  make  you  nerv- 
ous, and  I  should  n't  sleep.  I  often  lie  awake 
nights,  thinking — " 

"  O,  nonsense,  child — nonsense  !  "  said  Marie  ; 
"  you  are  such  a  strange  child  !  " 

"  But  may  I,  mamma  ?  I  think,"  she  said,  timidly, 
"that  Mammy  is  n't  well.  She  told  me  her  head 
ached  all  the  time,  lately." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  243 

"  O,  that "s  just  one  of  Mammy's  fidgets  !  Mammy 
is  just  like  all  the  rest  of  them — makes  such  a  fuss 
about  every  little  head-ache  or  finger-ache ;  it  '11 
never  do  to  encourage  it — never  !  I  'm  principled 
about  this  matter,"  said  she,  turning  to  Miss  Ophelia; 
"  you  '11  find  the  necessity  of  it.  If  you  encourage 
servants  in  giving  way  to  every  little  disagreeable 
feeling,  and  complaining  of  every  little  ailment,  you  '11 
have  your  hands  full.  I  never  complain  myself — 
nobody  knows  what  I  endure.  I  feel  it  a  duty  to 
bear  it  quietly,  and  I  do." 

Miss  Ophelia's  round  eyes  expressed  an  undis- 
guised amazement  at  this  peroration,  which  struck 
St.  Clare  as  so  supremely  ludicrous,  that  he  burst 
into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  St.  Clare  always  laughs  when  I  make  the  least 
allusion  to  my  ill  health,"  said  Marie,  with  the  voice 
of  a  suffering  martyr.  "  I  only  hope  the  day  won't 
come  when  he  '11  remember  it !  "  and  Marie  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Of  course,  there  was  rather  a  foolish  silence. 
Finally,  St.  Clare  got  up,  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
said  he  had  an  engagement  down  street.  Eva  tripped 
away  after  him,  and  Miss  Ophelia  and  Marie  re- 
mained at  the  table  alone. 

"  Now,  that 's  just  like  St.  Clare  !  "  said  the  latter, 
withdrawing  her*  handkerchief  with  somewhat  of  a 
spirited  flourish  when  the  criminal  to  be  affected  by 
it  was  no  longer  in  sight.  "  He  never  realizes,  never 
can,  never  will,  what  I  suffer,  and  have,  for  years. 
If  I  was  one  of  the  complaining  sort,  or  ever  made 
any  fuss  about  my  ailments,  there  would  be  some 
reason  for  it.  Men  do  get  tired,  naturally,  of  a  com- 
plaining wife.  But  I  've  kept  things  to  myself,  and 
borne,  and  borne,  till  St.  Clare  has  got  in  the  way 
of  thinking  I  can  bear  anything." 


:244  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

Miss  Ophelia  did  not  exactly  know  what  she  was 
expected  to  answer  to  this. 

While  she  was  thinking  what  to  say,  Marie  grad- 
ually wiped  away  her  tears,  and  smoothed  her  plum- 
age in  a  general  sort  of  way,  as  a  dove  might  be 
supposed  to  make  toilet  after  a  shower,  and  began 
a  housewifely  chat  with  Miss  Ophelia,  concerning 
cupboards,  closets,  linen-presses,  store-rooms,  and 
other  matters,  of  which  the  latter  was,  by  common 
understanding,  to  assume  the  direction, — giving  her 
so  many  cautious  directions  and  charges,  that  a  head 
less  systematic  and  business-like  than  Miss  Ophelia's 
"would  have  been  utterly  dizzied  and  confounded. 

"And  now,"  said  Marie,  "I  believe  I  've  told  you 
-everything ;  so  that,  when  my  next  sick  turn  comes 
on,  you  '11  be  able  to  go  forward  entirely,  without 
consulting  me  ; — only  about  Eva, — she  requires 
watching." 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  good  child,  very,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia  ;  "  I  never  saw  a  better  child." 

"  Eva 's  peculiar,"  said  her  mother,  "  very.  There 
are  things  about  her  so  singular ;  she  isn  't  like  me, 
now,  a  particle  ;  "  and  Marie  sighed,  as  if  this  was 
a  truly  melancholy  consideration. 

Miss  Ophelia  in  her  own  heart  said,  "  I  hope  she 
isn't,"  but  had  prudence  enough  to  keep  it  down. 

"  Eva  always  was  disposed  to  be  with  servants ; 
and  I  think  that  well  enough  with  some  children. 
Now,  I  always  played  with  father's  little  negroes — it 
never  did  me  any  harm.  But  Eva  somehow  always 
seems  to  put  herself  on  an  equality  with  every 
creature  that  comes  near  her.  It 's  a  strange  thing 
about  the  child.  I  never  have  been  able  to  break 
her  of  it.  St.  Clare,  I  believe,  encourages  her  in  it. 
The  fact  is,  St.  Clare  indulges  every  creature  under 
this  roof  but  his  own  wife." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  245 

Again  Miss  Ophelia  sat  in  blank  silence. 

"  Now,  there  's  no  way  with  servants,"  said  Marie, 
"but  to  put  them  down,  and  keep  them  down.  It 
was  always  natural  to  me,  from  a  child.  Eva  is 
enough  to  spoil  a  whole  house-full.  What  she  will 
do  when  she  comes  to  keep  house  herself,  I  'm  sure 
I  don't  know.  I  hold  to  being  kind  to  servants — 
I  always  am  ;  but  you  must  make  'em  know  their  place. 
Eva  never  does  ;  there  's  no  getting  into  the  child's 
head  the  first  beginning  of  an  idea  what  a  servant's 
place  is  !  You  heard  her  offering  to  take  care  of  me 
nights,  to  let  Mammy  sleep  !  That  's  just  a  speci- 
men of  the  way  the  child  would  be  doing  all  the 
time,  if  she  was  left  to  herself." 

"  Why,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  bluntly,  "  I  suppose 
you  think  your  servants  are  human  creatures,  and 
ought  to  have  some  rest  when  ttiey  are  tired." 

"  Certainly,  of  course.  I  'm  very  particular  in 
letting  them  have  everything  that  comes  convenient, 
— anything  that  does  n't  put  one  at  all  out  of  the 
way,  you  know.  Mammy  can  make  up  her  sleep, 
some  time  or  other ;  there  's  no  difficulty  about  that. 
She  's  the  sleepiest  concern  that  ever  I  saw ;  sew- 
ing, standing,  or  sitting,  that  creature  will  go  to 
sleep,  and  sleep  anywhere  and  everywhere.  No 
danger  but  Mammy  gets  sleep  enough.  But  this 
treating  servants  as  if  they  were  exotic  flowers,  or 
china  vases,  is  really  ridiculous,"  said  Marie,  as 
she  plunged  languidly  into  the  depths  of  a  volum- 
inous and  pillowy  lounge,  and  drew  towards  her  an 
elegant  cut-glass  vinaigrette. 

"  You  see,"  she  continued,  in  a  faint  and  lady-like 
voice,  like  the  last  dying  breath  of  an  Arabian  jes- 
samine, or  something  equally  ethereal,  "  you  see, 
Cousin  Ophelia,  I  don't  often  speak  of  myself.     It 


246  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

is  n't  my  habit ;  't  is  n't  agreeable  to  me.  In  fact, 
I  have  n't  strength  to  do  it.  But  there  are  points 
where  St.  Clare  and  I  differ.  St.  Clare  never  under- 
stood me,  never  appreciated  me.  I  think  it  lies  at 
the  root  of  all  my  ill  health.  St.  Clare  means  well, 
I  am  bound  to  believe  ;  but  men  are  constitutionally- 
selfish  and  inconsiderate  to  woman.  That,  at  least, 
is  my  impression." 

Miss  Ophelia,  who  had  not  a  small  share  of  the 
genuine  New  England  caution,  and  a  very  partic- 
ular horror  of  being  drawn  into  family  difficulties, 
now  began  to  foresee  something  of  this  kind  impend- 
ing ;  so,  composing  her  face  into  a  grim  neutrality, 
and  drawing  out  of  her  pocket  about  a  yard  and  a 
quarter  of  stocking,  which  she  kept  as  a  specific 
against  what  Dr.  Watts  asserts  to  be  a  personal 
habit  of  Satan  when  people  have  idle  hands,  she 
proceeded  to  knit  most  energetically,  shutting  her 
lips  together  in  a  way  that  said,  as  plain  as  words 
could,  "  You  need  n't  try  to  make  me  speak.  I 
don't  want  anything  to  do  with  your  affairs," — in 
fact,  she  looked  about  as  sympathizing  as  a  stone 
lion.  But  Marie  did  n't  care  for  that.  She  had  got 
somebody  to  talk  to,  and  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  talk, 
and  that  was  enough-,  and  reinforcing  herself  by 
smelling  again  at  her  vinaigrette,  she  went  on. 

"  You  see,  I  brought  my  own  property  and  serv- 
ants into  the  connection,  when  I  married  St.  Clare, 
and  I  am  legally  entitled  to  manage  them  my  own 
way.  St.  Clare  had  his  fortune  and  his  servants, 
and  I  'm  well  enough  content  he  should  manage 
them  his  way ;  but  St.  Clare  will  be  interfering. 
He  has  wild,  extravagant  notions  about  things,  par- 
ticularly about  the  treatment  of  servants.  He 
really  does  act  as  if  he  set  his  servants  before  me, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  247 

and  before  himself,  too  ;  for  he  lets  them  make  him 
all  sorts  of  trouble,  and  never  lifts  a  finger.  Now, 
about  some  things,  St.  Clare  is  really  frightful — he 
frightens  me — good-natured  as  he  looks  in  general. 
Now,  he  has  set  down  his  foot  that,  come  what  will, 
there  shall  not  be  a  blow  struck  in  this  house,  except 
what  he  or  I  strike  ;  and  he  does  it  in  a  way  that  I 
really  dare  not  cross  him.  Well,  you  may  see  what 
that  leads  to  ;  for  St.  Clare  would  n't  raise  his  hand, 
if  every  one  of  them  walked  over  him,  and  I — you 
see  how  cruel  it  would  be  to  require  me  to  make  the 
exertion.  Now,  you  know  these  servants  are  nothing 
but  grown-up  children." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and  I  thank  the 
Lord  that  I  don't !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  shortly. 

"  Well,  but  you  will  have  to  know  something,  and 
know  it  to  your  cost,  if  you  stay  here.  You  don't 
know  what  a  provoking,  stupid,  careless,  unreason- 
able, childish,  ungrateful  set  of  wretches  they 
are." 

Marie  seemed  wonderfully  supported,  always, 
when  she  got  upon  this  topic  ;  and  she  now  opened 
her  eyes,  and  seemed  quite  to  forget  her  languor. 

"  You  don't  know,  and  you  can't,  the  daily,  hourly 
trials  that  beset  a  housekeeper  from  them,  every- 
where and  every  way.  But  it  's  no  use  to  complain 
to  St.  Clare.  He  talks  the  strangest  stuff.  He 
says  we  have  made  them  what  they  are,  and  ought 
to  bear  with  them.  He  says  their  faults  are  all 
owing  to  us,  and  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  make  the 
fault  and  punish  it  too.  He  says  we  should  n't  do 
any  better,  in  their  place ;  just  as  if  one  could  rea- 
son from  them  to  us,  you  know." 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  the  Lord  made  them  of 
one  blood  with  us  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  shortly. 


248  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

"No,  indeed,  not  I!  A  pretty  story,  truly! 
They  are  a  degraded  race." 

"  Don't  you  think  they  've  got  immortal  souls  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  with  increasing  indignation. 

"  O,  well,"  said  Marie,  yawning,  "that,  of  course 
— nobody  doubts  that.  But  as  to  putting  them  on 
any  sort  of  equality  with  us,  you  know,  as  if  we 
could  be  compared,  why,  it  's  impossible  !  Now, 
St.  Clare  really  has  talked  to  me  as  if  keeping 
Mammy  from  her  husband  was  like  keeping  me 
from  mine.  There  's  no  comparing  in  this  way. 
Mammy  could  n't  have  the  feelings  that  I  should. 
It  's  a  different  thing  altogether, — of  course,  it  is, — 
and  yet  St.  Clare  pretends  not  to  see  it.  And  just 
as  if  Mammy  could  love  her  little  dirty  babies  as  I 
love  Eva  !  Yet  St.  Clare  once  really  and  soberly 
tried  to  persuade  me  that  it  was  my  duty,  with  my 
weak  health,  and  all  I  suffer,  to  let  Mammy  go  back, 
and  take  somebody  else  in  her  place.  That  was  a 
little  too  much  even  for  me  to  bear.  I  don't  often 
show  my  feelings.  I  make  it  a  principle  to  endure 
everything  in  silence  ;  it  's  a  wife's  hard  lot,  and  I 
bear  it.  But  I  did  break  out,  that  time ;  so  that  he 
has  never  alluded  to  the  subject  since.  But  I  know 
by  his  looks,  and  little  things  that  he  says,  that  he 
thinks  so  as  much  as  ever  •  and  it  's  so  trying,  so 
provoking !  " 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  very  much  as  if  she  was 
afraid  she  should  say  something ;  but  she  rattled 
away  with  her  needles  in  a  way  that  had  volumes  of 
meaning  in  it,  if  Marie  could  only  have  understood  it. 

"  So,  you  just  see,"  she  continued,  "  what  you  've 
got  to  manage.  A  household  without  any  rule  ; 
where  servants  have  it  all  their  own  way,  do  what 
they  please,  and  have  what  they  please,  except  so 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY. 


249* 


far  as  I,  with  my  feeble  health,  have  kept  up  govern- 
ment. 1  keep  my  cowhide  about,  and  sometimes  I 
do  lay  it  on  ;  but  the  exertion  is  always  too  much  for 
me.  If  St.  Clare  would  only  have  this  thing  done: 
as  others  do — " 

"And  how  's  that?" 

"Why  send  them  to  the  calaboose,  or  some  of 
the  other  places  to  be  flogged.  That  's  the  only 
way.  If  I  was  n't  such  a  poor,  feeble  piece,  I 
believe  I  should  manage  with  twice  the  energy  that. 
St.  Clare  does." 

"  And  how  does  St.  Clare  contrive  to  manage  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  You  say  he  never  strikes  a. 
blow." 

"  Well,  men  have  a  more  commanding  way,  you 
know ;  it  is  easier  for  them ;  besides,  if  you  ever 
looked  full  in  his  eye,  it  's  peculiar, — that  eye, — 
and  if  he  speaks  decidedly,  there  's  a  kind  of  flash. 
I  'm  afraid  of  it,  myself  ;  and  the  servants  know 
they  must  mind.  I  could  n't  do  as  much  by  a  reg- 
ular storm  and  scolding  as  St.  Clare  can  by  one 
turn  of  his  eye,  if  once  he  is  in  earnest.  O,  there  's 
no  trouble  about  St.  Clare ;  that 's  the  reason  he  's  no 
more  feeling  for  me.  But  you  '11  find,  when  you 
come  to  manage,  that  there's  no  getting  along  with- 
out severity, — they  are  so  bad,  so  deceitful,  so  lazy." 

"  The  old  tune,"  said  St.  Clare,  sauntering  in. 
"  What  an  awful  account,  these  wicked  creatures 
will  have  to  settle,  at  last,  especially  for  being  lazy ! 
You  see,  cousin,"  said  he,  as  he  stretched  himself 
at  full  length  on  a  lounge  opposite  to  Marie,  "  it  's 
wholly  inexcusable  in  them,  in  the  light  of  the  ex- 
ample that  Marie  and  I  set  them, — this  laziness." 

"  Come,  now,  St.  Clare,  you  are  too  bad  !"  said. 
Marie.  ..  * 


250  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  !    OR, 

"  Am  I,  now  ?  Why,  I  thought  I  was  talking 
good,  quite  remarkably  for  me.  I  try  to  enforce 
your  remarks,  Marie,  always." 

"  You  know  you  meant  no  such  thing,  St.  Clare," 
said  Marie. 

"  O,  I  must  have  been  mistaken,  then.  Thank 
you,  my  dear,  for  setting  me  right." 

"You  do  really  try  to  be  provoking,"  said  Marie. 

"  O,  come,  Marie,  the  day  is  growing  warm,  and 
I  have  just  had  a  long  quarrel  with  Dolph,  which 
has  fatigued  me  excessively  ;  so,  pray  be  agreeable, 
now,  and  let  a  fellow  repose  in  the  light  of  your 
smile." 

"  What  's  the  matter  about  Dolph  ?  "  said  Marie. 
*'  That  fellow's  impudence  has  been  growing  to  a 
point  that  is  perfectly  intolerable  to  me.  I  only 
wish  I  had  the  undisputed  management  of  him  a 
while.     I  'd  bring  him  down  !  " 

"What  you  say,  my  dear,  is  marked  with  your 
usual  acuteness  and  good  sense,"  said  St.  Clare. 
""  As  to  Dolph,  the  case  is  this :  that  he  has  so 
long  been  engaged  in  imitating  my  graces  and  per- 
fections, that  he  has,  at  last,  really  mistaken  him- 
self for  his  master  ;  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  give 
him  a  little  insight  into  his  mistake." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Marie. 

"  Why,  I  was  obliged  to  let  him  understand  ex- 
plicitly that  I  preferred  to  keep  some  of  my  clothes 
for  my  own  personal  wearing  ;  also,  I  put  his  mag- 
nificence upon  an  allowance  of  cologne-water,  and 
actually  was  so  cruel  as  to  restrict  him  to  one  dozen 
of  my  cambric  handkerchiefs.  Dolph  was  particu- 
larly huify  about  it,  and  I  had  to  talk  to  him  like  a 
father,  to  bring  him  round." 

"  O  J  St.  Clare,  when  will  you  learn  how  to  treat 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  25 1 

your  servants  ?  It  's  abominable,  the  way  you  in- 
dulge them  !  "  said  Marie. 

"  Why,  after  all,  what  's  the  harm  of  the  poor 
dog's  wanting  to  belike  his  master  ;  and  if  I  have  n't 
brought  him  up  any  better  than  to  find  his  chief 
good  in  cologne  and  cambric  handkerchiefs,  why 
should  n't  I  give  them  to  him  ?  " 

"  And  why  have  n't  you  brought  him  up  better  ? " 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  with  blunt  determination. 

"  Too  much  trouble, — laziness,  cousin,  laziness, — 
which  ruins  more  souls  than  you  can  shake  a  stick 
at.  If  it  were  n't  for  laziness,  I  should  have  been 
a  perfect  angel,  myself.  I  'm  inclined  to  think  that 
laziness  is  what  your  old  Dr.  Botherem,  up  in  Ver- 
mont, used  to  call  the  '  essence  of  moral  evil.'  It 's 
an  awful  consideration,  certainly." 

"  I  think  you  slaveholders  have  an  awful  respon- 
sibility upon  you,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  I  would  n't 
have  it,  for  a  thousand  worlds.  You  ought  to 
educate  your  slaves,  and  treat  them  like  reasonable 
creatures, — like  immortal  creatures,  that  you  Ve  got 
to  stand  before  the  bar  of  God  with.  That 's  my 
mind,"  said  the  good  lady,  breaking  suddenly  out 
with  a  tide  of  zeal  that  had  been  gaining  strength  in 
her  mind  all  the  morning. 

"  O !  come,  come,"  said  St.  Clare,  getting  up 
quickly  ;  "  what  do  you  know  about  us  ?  "  And  he 
sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  rattled  a  lively  piece  of 
music.  St.  Clare  had  a  decided  genius  for  music. 
His  touch  was  brilliant  and  firm,  and  his  fingers  flew 
over  the  keys  with  a  rapid  and  bird-like  motion,  airy, 
and  yet  decided.  He  played  piece  after  piece,  like 
a  man  who  is  trying  to  play  himself  into  a  good 
humor.  After  pushing  the  music  aside,  he  rose  up, 
and  said,  gavly,  "  Well,  now,  cousin,  you  've  given 
18 


252  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

us  a  good  talk,  and  done  your  duty ;  on  the  whole,, 
1  think  the  better  of  you  for  it.  I  make  no  manner 
of  doubt  that  you  threw  a  very  diamond  of  truth  at 
me,  though  you  see  it  hit  me  so  directly  in  the  face 
that  it  was  n't  exactly  appreciated,  at  first." 

"  For  my  part,  I  don  't  see  any  use  in  such  sort  of 
talk,"  said  Marie.  "  I  'm  sure,  if  anybody  does  more 
for  servants  than  we  do,  I  'd  like  to  know  who  ;  and 
it  don't  do  'em  a  bit  good, — not  a  particle, — they 
get  worse  and  worse.  As  to  talking  to  them,  or 
anything  like  that,  I  'm  sure  I  have  talked  till  I  was 
tired  and  hoarse,  telling  them  their  duty,  and  all 
that ;  and  I  'm  sure  they  can  go  to  church  when  they 
like,  though  they  don't  understand  a  word  of  the 
sermon,  more  than  so  many  pigs, — so  it  is  n't  of 
any  great  use  for  them  to  go,  as  I  see ;  but  they  do- 
go,  and  so  they  have  every  chance  ;  but,  as  I  said 
before,  they  are  a  degraded  race,  and  always  will  be, 
and  there  is  n't  any  help  for  them ;  you  can't  make 
anything  of  them,  if  you  try.  You  see,  Cousin 
Ophelia,  I  've  tried,  and  you  have  n't ;  I  was  born 
and  bred  among  them,  and  I  know." 

Miss  Ophelia  thought  she  had  said  enough,  and 
therefore  sat  silent.     St.  Clare  whistled  a  tune. 

"  St.  Clare,  I  wish  you  would  n't  whistle,"  said 
Marie ;   "  it  makes  my  head  worse." 

"  I  won't,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  Is  there  anything 
else  you  would  n't  wish  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  have  some  kind  of  sympathy 
for  my  trials ;  you  never  have  any  feeling  for  me." 

u  My  dear  accusing  angel !  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  It 's  provoking  to  be  talked  to  in  that  way." 

"  Then,  how  will  you  be  talked  to  ?  I  '11  talk  to 
order, — any  way  you  '11  mention, — only  to  give  sat- 
isfaction." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  253 

A  gay  laugh  from  the  court  rang  through  the  silken 
curtains  of  the  verandah.  St.  Clare  stepped  out, 
and  lifting  up  the  curtain,  laughed  too. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  coming  to  the 
railing. 

There  sat  Tom,  on  a  little  mossy  seat  in  the  courty 
every  one  of  his  button-holes  stuck  full  of  cape  jes- 
samines and  Eva,  gayly  laughing,  was  hanging  a 
wreath  of  roses  round  his  neck  ;  and  then  she  sat 
down  on  his  knee,  like  a  chip-sparrow,  still  laughing. 

"  O,  Tom,  you  look  so  funny  !  " 

Tom  had  a  sober,  benevolent  smile,  and  seemed,* 
in  his  quiet  way,  to  be  enjoying  the  fun  quite  as 
much  as  his  little  mistress.  He  lifted  his  eyes,  when 
he  saw  his  master,  with  a  half-deprecating,  apologetic 
air. 

"  How  can  you  let  her  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,  it  seems  so  dreadful  ! " 

"  You  would  think  no  harm  in  a  child's  caressing; 
a  large  dog,  even  if  he  was  black  ;  but  a  creature 
that  can  think,  and  reason,  and  feel,  and  is  im- 
mortal, you  shudder  at ;  confess  it,  cousin.  I  know 
the  feeling  among  some  of  you  northerners  well 
enough.  Not  that  there  is  a  particle  of  virtue  in 
our  not  having  it ;  but  custom  with  us  does  what 
Christianity  ought  to  do, — obliterates  the  feeling  of 
personal  prejudice.  I  have  often  noticed,  in  my~ 
travels  north,  how  much  stronger  this  was  with  you. 
than  with  us.  You  loathe  them  as  you  would  a. 
snake  or  a  toad,  yet  you  are  indignant  at  their  wrongs. 
You  would  not  have  them  abused  ;  but  you  don't 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  them  yourselves. 
You  would  send  them  to  Africa,  out  of  your  sight 
and  smell,  and  then  send  a  missionary  or  two  to  do* 


254  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

up  all  the  self-denial  of  elevating  them  compen- 
diously.    Is  n't  that  it  ?  " 

"Well,  cousin,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  thoughtfully, 
'"  there  may  be  some  truth  in  this." 

"  What  would  the  poor  and  lowly  do,  without 
children  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  leaning  on  the  railing  and 
watching  Eva,  as  she  tripped  off,  leading  Tom  with 
her.  "  Your  little  child  is  your  only  true  democrat. 
Tom,  now,  is  a  hero  to  Eva ;  his  stories  are  wonders 
in  her .  eyes,  his  songs  and  Methodist  hymns  are 
"better  than  an  opera,  and  the  traps  and  little  bits  of 
trash  in  his  pocket  a  mine  of  jewels,  and  he  the 
most  wonderful  Tom  that  ever  wore  a  black  skin. 
This  is  one  of  the  roses  of  Eden  that  the  Lord  has 
dropped  down  expressly  for  the  poor  and  lowly,  who 
get  few  enough  of  any  other  kind." 

u  It 's  strange,  cousin,"  said  Miss  Ophelia  ;  "  one 
might  almost  think  you  were  a  professor,  to  hear  you 
talk." 

"  A  professor  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Yes  ;  a  professor  of  religion." 

"  Not  at  all ;  not  a  professor,  as  your  town-folks 
have  it ;  and,  what  is  worse,  I  'm  afraid,  not  a 
J>ractiser,  either." 

"  What  makes  you  talk  so,  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing  is  easier  than  talking,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  I  believe  Shakspeare  makes  somebody  say,  '  I 
could  sooner  show  twenty  what  were  good  to  be 
done,  than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  my  own 
showing.'  Nothing  like  division  of  labor.  My  forte 
lies  in  talking,  and  yours,  cousin,  lies  in  doing." 


In  Tom's  external  situation,  at  this  time,  there 
was,  as  the  world  says,  nothing  to  complain  of. 
Little  Eva's  fancy  for  him — the  instinctive  gratitude 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  255, 

and  loveliness  of  a  noble  nature — had  led  her  tx> 
petition  her  father  that  he  might  be  her  especial 
attendant,  whenever  she  needed  the  escort  of  a. 
servant,  in  her  walks  or  rides ;  and  Tom  had 
general  orders  to  let  everything  else  go,  and  attend 
to  Miss  Eva  whenever  she  wanted  him, — orders 
which  our  readers  may  fancy  were  far  from  disagree- 
able to  him.  He  was  kept  well  dressed,  for  St. 
Clare  was  fastidiously  particular  on  this  point.  His 
stable  services  were  merely  a  sinecure,  and  consisted 
simply  in  a  daily  care  and  inspection,  and  directing 
an  under-servant  in  his  duties  ;  for  M^rie  St.  Clare 
declared  that  she  could  not  have  any  smell  of  the 
horses  about  him  when  he  came  near  her,  and 
that  he  must  positively  not  be  put  to  any  service 
that  would  make  him  unpleasant  to  her,  as  her 
nervous  system  was  entirely  inadequate  to  any 
trial  of  that  nature  ;  one  snuff  of  anything  disagree- 
able being,  according  to  her  account,  quite  sufficient 
to  close  the  scene,  and  put. an  end  to  all  her  earthly 
trials  at  once.  Tom,  therefore,  in  his  well-brushed 
broadcloth  suit,  smooth  beaver,  glossy  boots,  fault- 
less wristbands  and  collar,  with  his  grave,  good- 
natured  black  face,  looked  respectable  enough  to  be 
a  Bishop  of  Carthage,  as  men  of  his  color  were,  in 
other  ages. 

Then,  too,  he  was  in  a  beautiful  place,  a  con- 
sideration to  which  his  sensitive  race  are  never  in- 
different; and  he  did  enjoy  with  a  quiet  joy  the 
birds,  the  flowers,  the  fountains,  the  perfume,  and 
light  and  beauty  of  the  court,  the  silken  hangings, 
and  pictures,  and  lustres,  and  statuettes,  and  gilding, 
that  made  the  parlors  within  a  kind  of  Aladdin's, 
palace  to  him. 


256  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

if  ever  Africa  shall  show  an  elevated  and  culti- 
vated race, — and  come  it  must,  some  time,  her  turn 
to  figure  in  the  great  drama  of  human  improvement, 
— life  will  awake  there  with  a  gorgeousness  and 
splendor  of  which  our  cold  western  tribes  faintly 
have  conceived.  In  that  far-off  mystic  land  of 
gold,  and  gems,  and  spices,  and  waving  palms,  and 
wondrous  flowers,  and  miraculous  fertility,  will 
awake  new  forms  of  art,  new  styles  of  splendor ; 
and  the  negro  race,  no  longer  despised  and  trodden 
•down,  will,  perhaps,  show  forth  some  of  the  latest  and 
most  magnificent  revelations  of  human  life.  Cer- 
tainly they  will,  in  their  gentleness,  their  lowly  docility 
■of  heart,  their  aptitude  to  repose  on  a  superior  mind 
and  rest  on  a  higher  power,  their  childlike  simplicity 
•of  affection,  and  facility  of  forgiveness.  In  all 
these  they  will  exhibit  the  highest  form  of  the  pecu- 
liarly Christian  life,  and,  perhaps,  as  God  chasteneth 
whom  he  loveth,  he  hath  chosen  poor  Africa  in  the 
furnace  of  affliction,  to  make  her  the  highest  and 
noblest  in  that  kingdom  which  he  will  set  up,  when 
•every  other  kingdom  has  been  tried,  and  failed  ;  for 
the  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  first. 

Was  this  what  Marie  St.  Clare  was  thinking  of, 
as  she  stood  gorgeously  dressed,  on  the  verandah, 
on  Sunday  morning,  clasping  a  diamond  bracelet  on 
her  slender  wrist  ?  Most  likely  it  was.  Or,  if  it 
was  n't  that,  it  was  something  else ;  for  Marie 
patronized  good  things,  and  she  was  going  now,  in 
full  force, — diamonds,  silk,  and  lace,  and  jewels, 
and  all, — to  a  fashionable  church,  to  be  very  relig- 
ious. Marie  always  made  a  point  to  be  very 
pious  on  Sundays.  There  she  stood,  so  slender,  so 
•elegant,  so  airy,  and  undulating  in  all  her  motions, 
3ier  lace  scarf  enveloping  her    like    a    mist.     She 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  257 

looked  a  graceful  creature,  and  she  felt  very  good 
and  very  elegant  indeed.  Miss  Ophelia  stood  at 
her  side,  a  perfect  contrast.  It  was  not  that  she 
had  not  as  handsome  a  silk  dress  and  shawl,  and  as 
fine  a  pocket-handkerchief  ;  but  stiffness  and  square- 
ness, and  bolt-uprightness,  enveloped  her  with  as 
indefinite  yet  appreciable  a  presence  as  did  grace  her 
elegant  neighbor  ;  not  the  grace  of  God,  however, — 
that  is  quite  another  thing ! 

"  Where  's  Eva  ? "  said  Marie. 

"  The  child  stopped  on  the  stairs,  to  say  some- 
thing to  Mammy." 

And  what  was  Eva  saying  to  Mammy  on  the 
stairs  ?  Listen,  reader,  and  you  will  hear,  though 
Marie  does  not. 

"  Dear  Mammy,  I  know  your  head  is  aching 
dreadfully." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Eva  !  my  head  allers  aches 
lately.     You  don't  need  to  worry." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  're  going  out ;  and  here," — 
and  the  little  girl  threw  her  arms  around  her — 
■"  Mammy,  you  shall  take  my  vinaigrette." 

"  What !  your  beautiful  gold  thing,  thar,  with  them 
diamonds !  Lor,  Miss,  't  would  n't  be  proper,  no 
wavs." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  need  it,  and  I  don't.  Mamma 
always  uses  it  for  headache,  and  it  '11  make  you  feel 
better.      No,  you  shall  take  it,  to  please  me,  now." 

"  Do  hear  the  darlin  talk  !  "  said  Mammy,  as  Eva 
thrust  it  into  her  bosom,  and,  kissing  her,  ran  down- 
stairs to  her  mother. 

"  What  were  you  stopping  for  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  stopping  to  give  Mammy  my  vinai- 
grette, to  take  to  church  with  her." 

"  Eva  !  "  said     Marie,     stamping    impatiently, — 


258  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"your  gold  vinaigrette  to  Mammy  !  When  will  you 
learn  what 's  proper  ?  Go  right  and  take  it  back, 
this  moment  !  " 

Eva  looked  downcast  and  aggrieved,  and  turned 
slowly. 

"  I  say,  Marie,  let  the  child  alone ;  she  shall  do 
as  she  pleases,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  St.  Clare,  how  will  she  ever  get  along  in  the 
world  ?  "  said  Marie. 

"  The  Lord  knows,"  said  St.  Clare  ;  "  but  she  '11 
get  along  in  heaven  better  than  you  or  I." 

"  O,  papa,  don't,"  said  Eva,  softly  touching  his 
elbow ;  "  it  troubles  mother." 

"  Well,  cousin,  are  you  ready  to  go  to  meeting  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  turning  square  about  on  St.  Clare. 

"  I  'm  not  going,  thank  you." 

"  I  do  wish  St.  Clare  ever  would  go  to  church," 
said  Marie  ;  "  but  he  has  n't  a  particle  of  religion 
about  him.     It  really  is  n't  respectable." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  You  ladies  go  to 
church  to  learn  how  to  get  along  in  the  world,  I  sup- 
pose, and  your  piety  sheds  respectability  on  us.  If 
I  did  go  at  all,  I  would  go  where  Mammy  goes  ; 
there  's  something  to  keep  a  fellow  awake  there,  at 
least." 

"  What !  those  shouting  Methodists  ?  Horrible  !  " 
said  Marie. 

"  Anything  but  the  dead  sea  of  your  respectable 
churches,  Marie.  Positively,  it 's  too  much  to  ask 
of  a  man.  Eva,  do  you  like  to  go  ?  Come,  stay  at 
home  and  play  with  me." 

"  Thank  you,  papa  ;  but  I  'd  rather  go  to  church." 

"  Is  n't  it  dreadful  tiresome  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"I  think  it  is  tiresome,  some,"  said  Eva;  "  and  I 
am  sleepy,  too,  but  I  try  to  keep  awake." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  259 

"  What  do  you  go  for,  then  ?  " 

"Why,  you  know,  papa,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,, 
"cousin  told  me  that  God  wants  to  have  us;  and 
he  gives  us  everything,  you  know  ;  and  it  is  n't  much 
to  do  it,  if  he  wants  us  to.  It  is  n't  so  very  tiresome, 
after  all." 

"  You  sweet,  little  obliging  soul !  "  said  St.  Clare, 
kissing  her  ;  "  go  along,  that 's  a  good  girl,  and  pray 
for  me." 

"  Certainly,  I  always  do,"  said  the  child,  as  she 
sprang  after  her  mother  into  the  carriage. 

St.  Clare  stood  on  the  steps  and  kissed  his  hand 
to  her,  as  the  carriage  drove  away ;  large  tears  were 
in  his  eyes. 

"O,  Evangeline  !  rightly  named,"  he  said  ;  "hath, 
not  God  made  thee  an  evangel  to  me  ? " 

So  he  felt  a  moment ;  and  then  he  smoked  a 
cigar,  and  read  the  Picayune,  and  forgot  his  little 
gospel.     Was  he  much  unlike  other  folks  ? 

"  You  see,  Evangeline,"  said  her  mother,  "  it 's 
always  right  and  proper  to  be  kind  to  servants,  but 
it  is  n't  proper  to  treat  them  just  as  we  would  our 
relations,  or  people  in  our  own  class  of  life.  Now, 
if  Mammy  was  sick,  you  would  n't  want  to  put  her 
in  your  own  bed." 

"  I  should  feel  just  like  it,  mamma,"  said  Eva, 
"  because  then  it  would  be  handier  to  take  care  of 
her,  and  because,  you  know,  my  bed  is  better  than 
hers." 

Marie  was  in  utter  despair  at  the  entire  want  of 
moral  perception  evinced  in  this  reply. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  make  this  child  understand 
me  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  significantly. 
,  Eva  looked  sorry  and  disconcerted  for  a  moment ; 


260  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

but  children,  luckily,  do  not  keep  to  one  impression 
long,  and  in  a  few  moments  she  was  merrily  laugh- 
ing at  various  things  which  she  saw  from  the  coach- 
windows,  as  it  rattled  along. 

*  *  *  #  *  =* 

"  Well,  ladies,"  said  St.  Clare,  as  they  were  com- 
fortably seated  at  the  dinner-table,  "  and  what  was 
the  bill  of  fare  at  church  to-day  ? " 

"  O,  Dr.  G preached  a  splendid  sermon,"  said 

Marie.  "  It  was  just  such  a  sermon  as  you  ought 
to  hear ;  it  expressed  all  my  views  exactly." 

"  It  must  have  been  very  improving,"  said  St. 
Clare.  "  The  subject  must  have  been  an  extensive 
one." 

"Well,  I  mean  all  my  views  about  society,  and 
such  things,"  said  Marie.  "  The  text  was,  '  He 
hath  made  everything  beautiful  in  its  season ; '  and 
he  showed  how  all  the  orders  and  distinctions  in 
society  came  from  God  ;  and  that  it  was  so  appro- 
priate, you  know,  and  beautiful,  that  some  should 
be  high  and  some  low,  and  that  some  were  born  to 
rule  and  some  to  serve,  and  all  that,  you  know;  and 
he  applied  it  so  well  to  all  this  ridiculous  fuss  that 
is  made  about  slavery,  and  he  proved  distinctly 
that  the  Bible  was  on  our  side,  and  supported  all 
our  institutions  so  convincingly.  I  only  wish  you  'd 
heard  him." 

"O,  I  did  n't  need  it,"  said  St.  Clare.  "I  can 
learn  what  does  me  as  much  good  as  that  from  the 
Picayune,  any  time,  and  smoke  a  cigar  besides  ; 
which  I  can't  do,  you  know,  in  a  church." 

"  Why,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  don't  you  believe 
in  these  views  ?  " 

"  Who, — I  ?  You  know  I  'm  such  a  graceless 
dog   that  these   religious  aspects    of  such   subjects 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  26 1 

don't  edify  me  much.  If  I  was  to  say  anything  on 
this  slavery  matter,  I  would  say  out,  fair  and  square, 
'  We  're  in  for  it ;  we  've  got  'em,  and  mean  to  keep 
'em,— it  's  for  our  convenience  and  our  interest ; ' 
for  that  's  the  long  and  short  of  it, — that  's  just  the 
whole  of  what  all  this  sanctified  stuff  amounts  to, 
after  all ;  and  I  think  that  will  be  intelligible  to 
everybody,  everywhere." 

"  I  do  think,  Augustine,  you  are  so  irreverent !  " 
said  Marie.  "  I  think  it  's  shocking  to  hear  you 
talk." 

"  Shocking !  it  's  the  truth.  This  religious  talk 
on  such  matters, — why  don't  they  carry  it  a  little 
further,  and  show  the  beauty,  in  its  season,  of  a 
fellow's  taking  a  glass  too  much,  and  sitting  a  little 
too  late  over  his  cards,  and  various  providential 
arrangements  of  that  sort,  which  are  pretty  frequent 
among  us  young  men  ; — we  'd  like  to  hear  that  those 
are  right  and  godly,  too."- 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  do  you  think  slavery 
right  or  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  have  any  of  your  horrid  New 
England  directness,  cousin,"  said  St.  Clare,  gayly. 
"  If  I  answer  that  question,  I  know  you  '11  be  at  me 
with  half  a  dozen  others,  each  one  harder  than  the 
last ;  and  I  'm  not  a  going  to  define  my  position.  I 
am  one  of  the  sort  that  lives  by  throwing  stones  at 
other  people's  glass  houses,  but  I  never  mean  to 
put  up  one  for  them  to  stone." 

"  That  's  just  the  way  he  's  always  talking,"  said 
Marie  ;  "  you  can't  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  him. 
I  believe  it  's  just  because  he  don't  like  religion, 
that  he  's  always  running  out  in  this  way  he  's  been 
doing." 
.    "Religion  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  in  a  tone  that  made 


262  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

both  ladies  look  at  him.  "  Religion  !  Is  what  you 
hear  at  church  religion  ?  Is  that  which  can  bend 
and  turn,  and  descend  and  ascend,  to  fit  every 
crooked  phase  of  selfish,  worldly  society,  religion  ? 
Is  that  religion  which  is  less  scrupulous,  less  gener- 
ous, less  just,  less  considerate  for  man,  than  even 
my  own  ungodly,  worldly,  blinded  nature  ?  No  ! 
When  I  look  for  a  religion,  I  must  look  for  some- 
thing above  me,  and  not  something  beneath." 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  that  the  Bible  justifies 
slavery,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  The  Bible  was  my  mother'  shook"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  By  it  she  lived  and  died,  and  I  would  be  very  sorry 
to  think  it  did.  I  'd  as  soon  desire  to  have  it 
proved  that  my  mother  could  drink  brandy,  chew 
tobacco,  and  swear,  by  way  of  satisfying  me  that  I 
did  right  in  doing  the  same.  It  would  n't  make  me 
at  all  more  satisfied  with  these  things  in  myself,  and 
it  would  take  from  me  the  comfort  of  respecting 
her ;  and  it  really  is  a  comfort,  in  this  world,  to 
have  anything  one  can  respect.  In  short,  you  see," 
said  he,  suddenly  resuming  his  gay  tone,  "  all  I 
want  is  that  different  things  be  kept  in  different 
boxes.  The  whole  frame-work  of  society,  both  in 
Europe  and  America,  is  made  up  of  various  things 
which  will  not  stand  the  scrutiny  of  any  very  ideal 
standard  of  morality.  It  's  pretty  generally  under- 
stood that  men  don't  aspire  after  the  absolute  right, 
but  only  to  do  about  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Now,  when  any  one  speaks  up,  like  a  man,  and  says 
slavery  is  necessary  to  us,  we  can't  get  along  without 
it,  we  should  be  beggared  if  we  give  it  up,  and,  of 
course,  we  mean  to  hold  on  to  it, — this  is  strong, 
clear,  well-defined  language ;  it  has  the  respecta- 
bility of  truth  to  it ;  and  if  we   may  judge   by  their 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  263 

practice,  the  majority  of  the  world  will  bear  us  out 
in  it.  But  when  he  begins  to  put  on  a  long  face, 
and  snuffle,  and  quote  Scripture,  I  incline  to  think 
he  is  n't  much  better  than  he  should  be." 

"You  are  very  uncharitable,"  said  Marie. 

"  Well,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  suppose  that  something 
should  bring  down  the  price  of  cotton  once  and  for- 
ever, and  make  the  whole  slave  property  a  drug  in 
the  market,  don't  you  think  we  should  soon  have 
another  version  of  the  Scripture  doctrine  ?  What  a 
flood  of  light  would  pour  into  the  church,  all  at 
once,  and  how  immediately  it  would  be  discovered 
that  everything  in  the  Bible  and  reason  went  the 
other  way  !  " 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  Marie,  as  she  reclined 
herself  on  a  lounge,  "  I  'm  thankful  I  'm  born  where 
slavery  exists  ;  and  I  believe  it  's  right — indeed  I 
feel  it  must  be  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  I  'm  sure  I  could  n't 
get  along  without  it." 

"  I  say,  what  do  you  think,  Pussy  ?  "  said  her 
father  to  Eva,  who  came  in  at  this  moment,  with  a 
flower  in  her  hand. 

"  What  about,  papa  ?  " 

"Why,  which  do  you  like  the  best, — to  live  as 
they  do  at  your  uncle's,  up  in  Vermont,  or  to  have 
a  house  full  of  servants,  as  we  do  ?  " 

"  O,  of  course,  our  way  is  the  pleasantest,"  said 
Eva. 

"Why  so  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  stroking  her  head. 

"  Why,  it  makes  so  many  more  round  you  to  love, 
you  know,"  said  Eva,  looking  up  earnestly. 

"Now,  that's  just  like  Eva,"  said  Marie;  "just 
one  of  her  odd  speeches." 

"  Is  it  an  odd  speech,  papa  ?  "  said  Eva,  whisper- 
ingly,  as  she  got  upon  his  knee. 


264  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  Rather,  as  this  world  goes,  Pussy,"  said  St, 
Clare.  "  But  where  has  my  little  Eva  been,  all 
dinner-time  ? " 

"  O,  I  've  been  up  in  Tom's  room,  hearing  him. 
sing,  and  Aunt  Dinah  gave  me  my  dinner." 

"  Hearing  Tom  sing,  hey?" 

"  O,  yes  !  he  sings  such  beautiful  things  about  the 
New  Jerusalem,  and  bright  angels,  and  the  land  of 
Canaan." 

"  I  dare  say  ;  it 's  better  than  the  opera,  is  n't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  's  going  to  teach  them  to  me." 

"  Singing  lessons,  hey  ? — you  are  coming  on." 

"Yes,  he  sings  for  me,  and  I  read  to  him  in  my 
Bible ;  and  he  explains  what  it  means,  you  know." 

"  On  my  word,"  said  Marie,  laughing,  "  that  is  the 
latest  joke  of  the  season." 

"Tom  is  n't  a  bad  hand,  now,  at  explaining 
Scripture,  I  '11  dare  swear,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  Tom 
has  a  natural  genius  for  religion.  I  wanted  the 
horses  out  early,  this  morning,  and  I  stole  up  to- 
Tom's  cubiculum  there,  over  the  stables,  and  there 
I  heard  him  holding  a  meeting  by  himself ;  and,  in 
fact,  I  have  n't  heard  anything  quite  so  savory  as 
Tom's  prayer  this  some  time.  He  put  in  for  me, 
with  a  zeal  that  was  quite  apostolic." 

"  Perhaps  he  guessed  you  were  listening.  I  've 
heard  of  that  trick  before." 

"  If  he  did,  he  was  n't  very  politic  ;  for  he  gave 
the  Lord  his  opinion  of  me,  pretty  freely.  Tom 
seemed  to  think  there  was  decidedly  room  for  im- 
provement in  me,  and  seemed  very  earnest  that  I 
should  be  converted." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  lay  it  to  heart,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  much  of  the  same  opinion," 
said  St.  Clare.  "  Well,  we  shall  see, — shan't  we, 
Eva?" 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  265 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    FREEMAN'S    DEFENCE. 

There  was  a  gentle  bustle  at  the  Quaker  house, 
as  the  afternoon  drew  to  a  close.  Rachel  Halliday 
moved  quietly  to  and  fro,  collecting  from  her  house- 
hold stores  such  needments  as  could  be  arranged  in 
the  smallest  compass,  for  the  wanderers  who  were 
to  go  forth  that  night.  The  afternoon  shadows 
stretched  eastward,  and  the  round  red  sun  stood 
thoughtfully  on  the  horizon,  and  his  beams  shone 
yellow  and  calm  into  the  little  bed-room  where 
George  and  his  wife  were  sitting.  He  was  sitting; 
with  his  child  on  his  knee,  and  his  wife's  hand  in 
his.  Both  looked  thoughtful  and  serious,  and  traces 
of  tears  were  on  their  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  Eliza,"  said  George,  "  I  know  all  you  say 
is  true.  You  are  a  good  child, — a  great  deal  better 
than  I  am  ;  and  I  will  try  to  do  as  you  say.  I  '11  try 
to  act  worthy  of  a  free  man.  I  '11  try  to  feel  like  a 
Christian.  God  Almighty  knows  that  I  've  meant  to 
do  well, — tried  hard  to  do  well, — when  everything 
has  been  against  me ;  and  now  I  '11  forget  all  the 
past,  and  put  away  every  hard  and  bitter  feeling,  and 
read  my  Bible,  and  learn  to  be  a  good  man." 

"  And  when  we  get  to  Canada,"  said  Eliza,  "  I  can 
help  you.  I  can  do  dress-making  very  well  ;  and  I 
understand  fine  washing  and  ironing  ;  and  between 
us  we  can  find  something  to  live  on." 

"  Yes,  Eliza,  so  long  as  we  have  each  other  and 
our  boy.  O  !  Eliza,  if  these  people  only  knew  what 
a  blessing  it  is  for  a  man  to  feel  that  his  wife  and 
child  belong  to  him  /    I  've  often  wondered  to  see 


2  66  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN   :   OR, 

men  that  could  call  their  wives  and  children  their 
own  fretting  and  worrying  about  anything  else.  Why, 
I  feel  rich  and  strong,  though  we  have  nothing  but 
our  bare  hands.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  scarcely  ask 
God  for  any  more.  Yes,  though  I  've  worked  hard 
*;very  day,  till  I  am  twenty-five  years  old,'  and  have 
not  a  cent  of  money,  nor  a  roof  to  cover  me,  nor  a 
spot  of  land  to  call  my  own,  yet,  if  they  will  only  let 
me  alone  now,  I  will  be  satisfied — thankful ;  I  will 
~work,  and  send  back  the  money  for  you  and  my  boy. 
As  to  my  old  master,  he  has  been  paid  five  times 
over  for  all  he  ever  spent  for  me.  I  don't  owe  him 
anything." 

"  But  yet  we  are  not  quite  out  of  danger,"  said 
Eliza  ;  "  we  are  not  yet  in  Canada." 

"  True, "  said  George,  "  but  it  seems  as  if  I  smelt 
the  free  air,  and  it  makes  me  strong." 

At  this  moment,  voices  were  heard  in  the  outer 
apartment,  in  earnest  conversation,  and  very  soon 
a  rap  was  heard  on  the  door.  Eliza  started  and 
opened  it. 

Simeon  Halliday  was  there,  and  with  him  a  Quaker 
"brother,  whom  he  introduced  as  Phineas  Fletcher. 
Phineas  was  tall  and  lathy,  red-haired,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  great  acuteness  and  shrewdness  in  his 
face.  He  had  not  the  placid,  quiet,  unworldly  air 
of  Simeon  Halliday  ;  on  the  contrary,  a  particularly 
wide-awake  and  an  fait  appearance,  like  a  man  who 
rather  prides  himself  on  knowing  what  he  is  about, 
and  keeping  a  bright  look-out  ahead ;  peculiarities 
which  sorted  rather  oddly  with  his  broad  brim  and 
formal  phraseology. 

"  Our  friend  Phineas  hath  discovered  something 
of  importance  to  the  interests  of  thee  and  thy  party> 
George,"  said  Simeon ;  "  it  were  well  for  thee  to  hear 
it." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  267 

"That  I  have,"  said  Phineas,  "and  it  shows  the 
use  of  a  man's  always  sleeping  with  one  ear  open,  in 
certain  places,  as  I  've  always  said.  Last  night  I 
stopped  at  a  little  lone  tavern,  back  on  the  road. 
Thee  remembers  the  place,  Simeon,  where  we  sold 
some  apples,  last  year,  to  that  fat  woman,  with  the 
great  ear-rings.  Well,  I  was  tired  with  hard  driving  ; 
and,  after  my  supper,  I  stretched  myself  down  on  a 
pile  of  bags  in  the  corner,  and  pulled  a  buffalo  over 
me,  to  wait  till  my  bed  was  ready ;  and  what  does  I 
do,  but  get  fast  asleep." 

"  With  one  ear  open,  Phineas  ?  "  said  Simeon, 
quietly. 
;  "  No  ;  I  slept,  ears  and  all,  for  an  hour  or  two,  for 
I  was  pretty  well  tired ;  but  when  I  came  to  myself 
a  little,  I  found  that  there  were  some  men  in  the  room, 
sitting  round  a  table,  drinking  and  talking ;  and  I 
thought,  before  I  made  much  muster,  I  'd  just  see 
what  they  were  up  to,  especially  as  I  heard  them  say 
something  about  the  Quakers.  '  So,'  says  one,  '  they 
are  up  in  the  Quaker  settlement,  no  doubt,'  says  he. 
Then  I  listened  with  both  ears,  and  I  found  that  they 
were  talking  about  this  very  party.  So  I  lay  and 
heard  them  lay  off  all  their  plans.  This  young  man, 
they  said,  was  to  be  sent  back  to  Kentucky,  to  his 
master,  who  was  going  to  make  an  example  of  him, 
to  keep  all  niggers  from  running  away  ;  and  his  wife 
two  of  them  were  going  to  run  down  to  New  Orleans 
to  sell,  on  their  own  account,  and  they  calculated  to 
get  sixteen  or  eighteen  hundred  dollars  for  her  ;  and 
the  child,  they  said,  was  going  to  a  trader,  who  had 
bought  him  ;  and  then  there  was  the  boy,  Jim,  and 
his  mother,  they  were  to  go  back  to  their  masters  in 
Kentucky.  They  said  that  there  were  two  constables, 
in  a  town  a  little  piece  ahead,  who  would  go   in 

*9 


268  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

with  'em  to  get  'em  taken  up,  and  the  young  woman 
was  to  be  taken  before  a  judge  ;  and  one  of  the  fel- 
lows, who  is  small  and  smooth-spoken,  was  to  swear 
to  her  for  his  property,  and  get  her  delivered  over  to 
him  to  take  south.  They  've  got  a  right  notion  of 
the  track  we  are  going  to-night ;  and  they  '11  be  down 
after  us,  six  or  eight  strong.  So,  now,  what  's  to  be 
done?" 

The  group  that  stood  in  various  attitudes,  after 
this  communication,  were  worthy  of  a  painter. 
Rachel  Halliday,  who  had  taken  her  hands  out  of  a 
batch  of  biscuit,  to  hear  the  news,  stood  with  them 
upraised  and  floury,  and  with  a  face  of  the  deepest 
concern.  Simeon  looked  profoundly  thoughtful ; 
Eliza  had  thrown  her  arms  around  her  husband,  and 
was  looking  up  to  him.  George  stood  with  clenched 
hands  and  glowing  eyes,  and  looking  as  any  other 
man  might  look,  whose  wife  was  to  be  sold  at  auc- 
tion, and  son  sent  to  a  trader,  all  under  the  shelter 
of  a  Christian  nation's  laws. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  George  ?  "  said  Eliza,  faintly. 

"  I  know  what  /  shall  do,"  said  George,  as  he 
stepped  into  the  little  room,  and  began  examining 
his  pistols. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Phineas,  nodding  his  head  to 
Simeon ;  "  thou  seest,  Simeon,  how  it  will  work." 

"  I  see,"  said  Simeon,  sighing  ;  "  I  pray  it  come 
not  to  that." 

"  I  don't  want  to  involve  any  one  with  or  for  me,' 
said  George.     "  If  you  will  lend   me  your  vehicle 
and  direct  me,  I  will  drive  alone   to  the  next  stand. 
Jim  is  a  giant  in  strength,  and  brave  as  death  and 
despair,  and  so  am  I." 

"  Ah,  well,  friend,"  said  Phineas,  "  but  thee  '11 
need  a  driver,  for  all  that.     Thee  's  quite  welcome 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  269 

to  do  all  the  fighting  thee  knows ;  but  I  know  a 
thing  or  two  about  the  road,  that  thee  does  n't." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  involve  you,"  said  George. 

"  Involve,"  said  Phineas,  with  a  curious  and  keen 
expression  of  face.  "  When  thee  does  involve  me, 
please  to  let  me  know." 

"  Phineas  is  a  wise  and  skilful  man,"  said  Simeon. 
"  Thee  does  well,  George,  to  abide  by  his  judgment ; 
and,"  he  added,  laying  his  hand  kindly  on  George's 
shoulder,  and  pointing  to  the  pistols,  "  be  not  over 
hasty  with  these, — young  blood  is  hot." 

"  I  will  attack  no  man,"  said  George.  "  All  I  ask 
of  this  country  is  to  be  let  alone,  and  I  will  go  out 
peaceably  ;  but," — he  paused,  and  his  brow  darkened 
and  his  face  worked, — "  I  've  had  a  sister  sold  in 
that  New  Orleans  market.  I  know  what  they  are 
sold  for ;  and  am  I  going  to  stand  by  and  see  them 
take  my  wife  and  sell  her,  when  God  has  given  me 
a  pair  of  strong  arms  to  defend  her  ?  No ;  God 
help  me  !  I  '11  fight  to  the  last  breath,  before  they 
shall  take  my  wife  and  son.     Can  you  blame  me  ?  " 

"  Mortal  man  cannot  blame  thee,  George.  Flesh 
and  blood  could  not  do  otherwise,"  said  Simeon. 
"  Woe  unto  the  world  because  of  offences,  but  woe 
unto  them  through  whom  the  offence  cometh." 

"Would  not  even  you,  sir,  do  the  same,  in  my 
place  ? " 

"  I  pray  that  I  be  not  tried,"  said  Simeon  ;  "  the 
flesh  is  weak." 

"  I  think  my  flesh  would  be  pretty  tolerable  strong, 
in  such  a  case,"  said  Phineas,  stretching  out  a  pair 
of  arms  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill.  "  I  an't  sure, 
friend  George,  that  I  should  n't  hold  a  fellow  for 
thee,  if  thee  had  any  accounts  to  settle  with  him." 

"  If  man  should  ever  resist  evil,"  said  Simeon, 


270  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  then  George  should  feel  free  to  do  it  now  :  but  the 
leaders  of  our  people  taught  a  more  excellent  way  ; 
for  the  wrath  of  man  worketh  not  the  righteousness 
of  God  ;  but  it  goes  sorely  against  the  corrupt  will 
of  man,  and  none  can  receive  it  save  they  to  whom 
it  is  given.  Let  us  pray  the  Lord  that  we  be  not 
tempted." 

"  And  so  I  do,"  said  Phineas  ;    "  but  if  we  are 

tempted  too  much why,  let  them  look  out,  that 's 

all." 

"  It 's  quite  plain  thee  was  n't  born  a  Friend,"  said 
Simeon,  smiling.  "  The  old  nature  hath  its  way  in 
thee  pretty  strong  as  yet." 

To  tell  the  truth,  Phineas  had  been  a  hearty,  two- 
fisted  backwoodsman,  a  vigorous  hunter,  and  a  dead 
shot  at  a  buck ;  but  having  wooed  a  pretty  Quaker- 
ess, had  been  moved  by  the  power  of  her  charms  to 
join  the  society  in  his  neighborhood ;  and  though 
he  was  an  honest,  sober,  and  efficient  member,  and 
nothing  particular  could  be  alleged  against  him,  yet 
the  more  spiritual  among  them  could  not  but  dis- 
cern an  exceeding  lack  of  savor  in  his  developments. 

"  Friend  Phineas  will  ever  have  ways  of  his  own," 
said  Rachel  Halliday,  smiling ;  "  but  we  all  think 
that  his  heart  is  in  the  right  place,  after  all." 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  is  n't  it  best  that  we  hasten 
our  flight  ?  " 

"  I  got  up  at  four  o'clock,  and  came  on  with  all 
speed,  full  two  or  three  hours  ahead  of  them,  if  they 
start  at  the  time  they  planned.  It  is  n't  safe  to 
start  till  dark,  at  any  rate  ;  for  there  are  some  evil 
persons  in  the  villages  ahead,  that  might  be  disposed 
to  meddle  with  us,  if  they  saw  our  wagon,  and  that 
would  delay  us  more  than  the  waiting  ;  but  in  two 
hours  I  think  we  may  venture.     I  will  go  over  to 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  27 1 

Michael  Cross,  and  engage  him  to  come  behind  on 
his  swift  nag,  and  keep  a  bright  look-out  on  the  road, 
and  warn  us  if  any  company  of  men  come  on. 
Michael  keeps  a  horse  that  can  soon  get  ahead  of 
most  other  horses  ;  and  he  could  shoot  ahead  and 
let  us  know,  if  there  were  any  danger.  I  am  going 
out  now  to  warn  Jim  and  the.  old  woman  to  be  in 
readiness,  and  to  see  about  the  horse.  We  have  a 
pretty  fair  start,  and  stand  a  good  chance  to  get 
to  the  stand  before  they  can  come  up  with  us.  So, 
have  good  courage,  friend  George  ;  this  is  n't  the 
first  ugly  scrape  that  I1  ve  been  in  with  thy  people," 
said  Phineas,  as  he  closed  the  door. 

"  Phineas  is  pretty  shrewd,"  said  Simeon.  "  He 
will  do  the  best  that  can  be  done  for  thee,  George." 

"  All  I  am  sorry  for,"  said  George,  "  is  the  risk  to 
you." 

"  Thee  '11  much  oblige  us,  friend  George,  to  say  nc* 
more  about  that.  What  we  do  we  are  conscience- 
bound  to  do ;  we  can  do'  no  other  way.  And  now,, 
mother,"  said  he,  turning  to  Rachel,  "  hurry  thy  prep- 
arations for  these  friends,  for  we  must  not  send, 
them  away  fasting.''' 

And  while  Rachel  and  the  children  were  busy 
making  corn-cake,  and  cooking  ham  and  chicken, 
and  hurrying  on  the  et  ceteras  of  the  evening  meal, 
George  and  his  wife  sat  in  their  little  room,  with 
their  arms  folded  about  each  other,  in  such  talk  as 
husband  and  wife  have  when  they  know  that  a  few 
hours  may  part  them  forever. 

"  Eliza,"  said  George,  "  people  that  have  friends, 
and  houses,  and  lands,  and  money,  and  all  those 
things,  ca?i^t  love  as  we  do,  who  have  nothing  but 
each  other.  Till  I  knew  you,  Eliza,  no  creature  ever 
had  loved  me,  but  my  poor,  heartbroken  mother  and 


272  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

sister.  I  saw  poor  Emily  that  morning  the  trader 
carried  her  off.  She  came  to  the  corner  where  I 
was  lying  asleep,  and  said,  *  Poor  George,  your  last 
friend  is  going.  What  will  become  of  you,  poor 
boy  ?  '  And  I  got  up  and  threw  my  arms  round  her, 
and  cried  and  sobbed,  and  she  cried  too  ;  and  those 
were  the  last  kind  words  I  got  for  ten  long  years ; 
and  my  heart  all  withered  up,  and  felt  as  dry  as 
ashes,  till  I  met  you.  And  your  loving  me, — why, 
it  was  almost  like  raising  one  from  the  dead  !  I  've 
been  a  new  man  ever  since  !  And  now,  Eliza,  I  '11 
give  my  last  drop  of  blood,  but  they  shall  not  take 
you  from  me.  Whoever  gets  you  must  walk  over 
my  dead  body." 

"  O,  Lord,  have  mercy ! "  said  Eliza,  sobbing 
"  If  he  will  only  l«t  us  get  out  of  this  country  to- 
gether, that  is  all  w^  ask." 

"  Is  God  on  their  side  ?  "  said  George,  speaking 

less   to  his  wife   than  pouring  out  his  own   bitter 

thoughts.     "  Does  he  see  all  they  do  !     Why  does 

3ie  Let  such  things  happen  ?     And  they  tell  us  that 

i;he  Bible  is  on  their  side  ;  certainly  all  the  power  is. 

They  are  rich,   and  healthy,  and  happy ;  they  are 

members  of  churches,  expecting  to  go  to  heaven ; 

;and  they  get  along  so  easy  in  the  world,  and  have 

it  all   their  own   way ;  and   poor,  honest,    faithful 

Christians, — -Christians  as  good  or  better  than  they, 

— are  lying  in  the  very  dust  under  their  feet.     They 

buy  'em,  and  sell  'em,  and  make  trade  of  their  heart's 

blood,  and  groans  and  tears, — and  God  lets  them." 

"  Friend  George,"  said  Simeon,  from  the  kitchen. 
"  listen  to  this  Psalm  ;  it  may  do  thee  good." 

George  drew  his  seat  near  the  door,  and  Eliza. 
wiping  her  tears,  came  forward  also  to  listen,  while 
Simeon  read  as  follows  : 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  ;.  n 

"  But  as  for  me,  my  feet  were  almost  gone  ;  my 
steps  had  well-nigh  slipped.  For  I  was  envious  of 
the  foolish,  when  I  saw  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked. 
They  are  not  in  trouble  like  other  men,  neither  are 
they  plagued  like  other  men.  Therefore  pride  com- 
passeth  them  as  a  chain  ;  violence  covereth  them  as 
a  garment.  Their  eyes  stand  out  with  fatness ; 
they  have  more  than  heart  could  wish.  They  are 
corrupt,  and  speak  wickedly  concerning  oppression ; 
they  speak  loftily.  Therefore  his  people  return,  and 
the  waters  of  a  full  cup  are  wrung  out  to  them,  and 
they  say,  How  doth  God  know  ?  and  is  there  knowl- 
edge in  the  Most  High  ?  " 

"  Is  not  that  the  way  thee  feels,  George  ?  " 

"  It  is  so,  indeed,"  said  George, — "  as  well  as  I 
could  have  written  it  myself." 

"  Then,  hear,"  said  Simeon  :  "  When  I  thought 
to  know  this,  it  was  too  painful  for  me  until  I  went 
unto  the  sanctuary  of  God.  Then  understood  I 
their  end.  Surely  thou  didst  set  them  in  slippery 
places,  thou  castedst  them  down  to  destruction.  As 
a  dream  when  one  awaketh,  so,  oh  Lord,  when  thou 
awakest,  thou  shalt  despise  their  image.  Neverthe- 
less, I  am  continually  with  thee  ;  thou  hast  holden 
me  by  my  right  hand.  Thou  shalt  guide  me  by  thy 
counsel,  and  afterwards  receive  me  to  glory.  It  is 
good  for  me  to  draw  near  unto  God.  I  have  put 
my  trust  in  the  Lord  God." 

The  words  of  holy  trust,  breathed  by  the  friendly 
old  man,  stole  like  sacred  music  over  the  harassed 
and  chafed  spirit  of  George ;  and  after  he  ceased, 
he  sat  with  a  gentle  and  subdued  expression  on  his 
fine  features. 

"  If  this  world  were  all,  George,"  said  Simeon, 
"  thee. might,  indeed,  ask,  where   is  the  Lord  ?     But 


274  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  :    OR, 

it  is  often  those  who  have  least  of  all  in  this  life 
whom  he  chooseth  for  the  kingdom.  Put  thy  trust 
in  him,  and,  no  matter  what  befalls  thee  here,  he 
will  make  all  right  hereafter." 

If  these  words  had  been  spoken  by  some  easy, 
self-indulgent  exhorter,  from  whose  mouth  they 
might  have  come  merely  as  pious  and  rhetorical 
flourish,  proper  to  be  used  to  people  in  distress,  per- 
haps they  might  not  have  had  much  effect ;  but 
coming  from  one  who  daily  and  calmly  risked  fine 
and  imprisonment  for  the  cause  of  God  and  man, 
they  had  a  weight  that  could  not  but  be  felt,  and 
both  the  poor,  desolate  fugitives  found  calmness  and 
strength  breathing  into  them  from  it. 

And  now  Rachel  took  Eliza's  hand  kindly,  and 
led  the  way  to  the  supper-table.  As  they  were 
sitting  down,  a  light  tap  sounded  at  the  door,  and 
Ruth  entered. 

"  I  just  ran  in,"  she  said,  "  with  these  little  stock- 
ings for  the  boy, — three  pair,  nice,  warm  woollen 
ones.  It  will  be  so  cold,  thee  knows,  in  Canada. 
Does  thee  keep  up  good  courage,  Eliza  ? "  she 
added,  tripping  round  to  Eliza's  side  of  the  table, 
and  shaking  her  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  slipping 
a  seed-cake  into  Harry's  hand.  "  I  brought  a  little 
parcel  of  these  for  him,"  she  said,  tugging  at  her 
pocket  to  get  out  the  package.  "  Children,  thee 
knows,  will  always  be  eating." 

"  O,  thank  you  ;  you  are  too  kind,"  said  Eliza. 

"  Come,  Ruth,  sit  down  to  supper,"  said  Rachel.. 

"  I  could  n't,  any  way.  I  left  John  with  the 
baby,  and  some  biscuits  in  the  oven  :  and  I  can't 
stay  a  moment,  else  John  will  burn  up  all  the  bis- 
cuits, and  give  the  baby  all  the  sugar  in  the  bowl. 
That 's  the  way  he  does,"  said  the  little  Quakeress, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  275 

laughing.  "  So,  good-by,  Eliza ;  good-by,  George  ; 
the  Lord  grant  thee  a  safe  journey ;  "  and,  with  a 
few  tripping  steps,  Ruth  was  out  of  the  apartment. 

A  little  while  after  supper,  a  large  covered-wagon 
drew  up  before  the  door  ;  the  night  was  clear  star- 
light ;  and  Phineas  jumped  briskly  down  from  his 
seat  to  arrange  his  passengers.  George  walked  out 
of  the  door,  with  his  child  on  one  arm  and  his  wife 
on  the  other.  His  step  was  firm,  his  face  settled 
and  resolute.  Rachel  and  Simeon  came  out  after 
them. 

"  You  get  out,  a  moment,"  said  Phineas  to  those 
inside,  "and  let  me  fix  the  back  of  the  wagon,  there, 
for  the  women-folks  and  the  boy." 

"  Here  are  the  two  buffaloes,"  said  Rachel. 
"  Make  the  seats  as  comfortable  as  may  be ;  it  's 
hard  riding  all  night." 

Jim  came  out  first,  and  carefully  assisted  out  his 
old  mother,  who  clung  to  his  arm,  and  looked  anx- 
iously about,  as  if  she  expected  the  pursuer  every 
moment. 

"  Jim,  are  your  pistols  all  in  order  ?  "  said  George, 
in  a  low,  firm  voice. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Jim. 

"  And  you  've  no  doubt  what  you  shall  do,  if  they 
come  ?  " 

"  I  rather  think  I  have  n't,"  said  Jim,  throwing 
open  his  broad  chest,  and  taking  a  deep  breath. 
"  Do  you  think  I  '11  let  them  get  mother  again  ? " 

During  this  brief  colloquy,  Eliza  had  been  taking 
her  leave  of  her  kind  friend,  Rachel,  and  was 
handed  into  the  carriage  by  Simeon,  and,  creeping 
into  the  back  part  with  her  boy,  sat  down  among 
the  buffalo-skins.  The  old  woman  was  next  handed 
in   and   seated,  and   George  and  Jim  placed  on  a 


276  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

rough  board  seat  front  of  them,  and  Phineas  mounted 
in  front. 

"  Farewell,  my  friends,"  said  Simeon,  from  with- 
out. 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  answered  all  from  within. 

And  the  wagon  drove  off,  rattling  and  jolting 
over  the  frozen  road. 

There  was  no  opportunity  for  conversation,  on 
account  of  the  roughness  of  the  way  and  the  noise 
of  the  wheels.  The  vehicle,  therefore,  rumbled  on, 
through  long,  dark  stretches  of  woodland, — over 
wide,  dreary  plains, — up  hills,  and  down  valleys, — 
and  on,  on,  on  they  jogged,  hour  after  hour.  The 
child  soon  fell  asleep,  and  lay  heavily  in  his  mother's 
lap.  The  poor,  frightened  old  woman  at  last  forgot 
her  fears  ;  and,  even  Eliza,  as  the  night  waned, 
found  all  her  anxieties  insufficient  to  keep  her  eyes 
from  closing*  Phineas  seemed,  on  the  whole,  the 
briskest  of  the  company,  and  beguiled  his  long  drive 
with  whistling  certain  very  unquaker-like  songs,  as 
lie  went  on. 

But  about  three  o'clock  George's  ear  caught  the 
hasty  and  decided  click  of  a  horse's  hoof  coming 
behind  them  at  some  distance,  and  jogged  Phineas 
by  the  elbow.  Phineas  pulled  up  his  horses,  and 
listened. 

"  That  must  be  Michael,"  he  said  ;  "  I  think  I 
know  the  sound  of  his  gallop ;  "  and  he  rose  up  and 
stretched  his  head  anxiously  back  over  the  road. 

A  man  riding  in  hot  haste  was  now  dimly  descried 
at  the  top  of  a  distant  hill. 

"  There  he  is,  I  do  believe  ! "  said  Phineas.  George 
and  Jim  both  sprang  out  of  the  wagon,  before  they 
knew  what  they  were  doing.  All  stood  intensely 
silent,  with  their  faces  turned  towards  the  expected 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  277 

messenger.  On  he  came.  Now  he  went  down  into 
a  valley,  where  they  could  not  see  him  ;  but  they 
heard  the  sharp,  hasty  tramp,  rising  nearer  and 
nearer  ;  at  last  they  saw  him  emerge  on  the  top  of 
an  eminence,  within  hail. 

"  Yes,  that 's  Michael !  "  said  Phineas  ;  and,  rais- 
ing his  voice,  "  Halloa,  there,  Michael  !  " 

"  Phineas  !  is  that  thee  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  what  news — they  coming  ?  " 

"  Right  on  behind,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  hot  with 
brandy,  swearing  and  foaming  like  so  many  wolves." 

And,  just  as  he  spoke,  a  breeze  brought  the  faint 
sound  of  galloping  horsemen  towards  them. 

"  In  with  you, — quick,  boys,  in!"  said  Phineas. 
*'•  If  you  must  fight,  wait  till  I  get  you  a  piece  ahead." 
And,  with  the  words,  both  jumped  in,  and  Phineas 
lashed  the  horses  to  a  run,  the  horseman  keeping 
close  beside  them.  The  wagon  rattled,  jumped, 
almost  flew,  over  the  frozen  ground;  but  plainer, 
and  still  plainer,  came  the  noise  of  pursuing  horse- 
men behind.  The  women  heard  it,  and,  looking 
anxiously  out,  saw,  far  in  the  rear,  on  the  brow  of  a 
distant  hill,  a  party  of  men  looming  up  against  the 
red-streaked  sky  of  early  dawn.  Another  hill,  and 
their  pursuers  had  evidently  caught  sight  of  their 
wagon,  whose  white  cloth-covered  top  made  it  con- 
spicuous at  some  distance,  and  a  loud  yell  of  brutal 
triumph  came  forward  on  the  wind.  Eliza  sickened, 
and  strained  her  child  closer  to  her  bosom  ;  the  old 
woman  prayed  and  groaned,  and  George  and  Jim 
clenched  their  pistols  with  the  grasp  of  despair. 
The  pursuers  gained  on  them  fast ;  the  carriage 
made  a  sudden  turn,  and  brought  them  near  a  ledge 
of  a  steep  overhanging  rock,  that  rose  in  an  isolated 
ridge  or  clump  in  a  large  lot,  which  was,  all  around 


278  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  •    OR, 

it,  quite  clear  and  smooth.  This  isolated  pile,  or 
range  of  rocks,  rose  up  black  and  heavy  against  the 
brightening  sky,  and  seemed  to  promise  shelter  and 
concealment.  It  was  a  place  well  known  to  Phineas, 
who  had  been  familiar  with  the  spot  in  his  hunting 
days ;  and  it  was  to  gain  this  point  he  had  been 
racing  his  horses. 

"  Now  for  it !  "  said  he,  suddenly  checking  his 
horses,  and  springing  from  his  seat  to  the  ground. 
"  Out  with  you,  in  a  twinkling,  every  one,  and  up 
into  these  rocks  with  me.  Michael,  thee  tie  thy' 
horse  to  the  wagon,  and  drive  ahead  to  Amariah's, 
and  get  him  and  his  boys  to  come  back  and  talk  to- 
these  fellows." 

In  a  twinkling  they  were  all  out  of  the  carriage. 

"  There,"  said  Phineas,  catching  up  Harry,  "  you, 
each  of  you,  see  to  the  women  ;  and  run,  now,  if  you. 
ever  did  run  !  " 

There  needed  no  exhortation.  Quicker  than  we 
can  say  it,  the  whole  party  were  over  the  fence, 
making  with  all  speed  for  the  rocks,  while  Michael, 
throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  and  fastening 
the  bridle  to  the  wagon,  began  driving  it  rapidly 
away. 

"  Come  ahead,"  said  Phineas,  as  they  reached 
the  rocks,  and  saw,  in  the  mingled  starlight  and 
dawn,  the  traces  of  a  rude  but  plainly  marked  foot- 
path leading  up  among  them  ;  "  this  is  one  of  our 
old  hunting-dens.      Come  up  !  " 

Phineas  went  before,  springing  up  the  rocks  like 
a  goat,  with  the  boy  in  his  arms.  Jim  came  second, 
bearing  his  trembling  old  mother  over  his  shoulder, 
and  George  and  Eliza  brought  up  the  rear.  The 
party  of  horsemen  came  up  to  the  fence,  and,  with 
mingled   shouts   and   oaths,    were   dismounting,    to 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  279 

prepare  to  follow  them.  A  few  moments'  scram- 
bling brought  them  to  the  top  of  the  ledge  •  the  path 
then  passed  between  a  narrow  defile,  where  only 
one  could  walk  at  a  time,  till  suddenly  they  came 
to  a  rift  or  chasm  more  than  a  yard  in  breadth,  and 
beyond  which  lay  a  pile  of  rocks,  separate  from  the 
rest  of  the  ledge,  standing  full  thirty  feet  high,  with 
its  sides  steep  and  perpendicular  as  those  of  a  cas- 
tle. Phineas  easily  leaped  the  chasm,  and  sat  down 
the  boy  on  a  smooth,  flat  platform  of  crisp  white 
moss,  that  covered  the  top  of  the. rock. 

"  Over  with  you  !  "  he  called  ;  "  spring,  now, 
once,  for  your  lives  !  "  said  he,  as  one  after  another 
sprang  across.  Several  fragments  of  loose  stone 
formed  a  kind  of  breast-work,  which  sheltered  their 
position  from  the  observation  of  those  below. 

"  Well,  here  we  all  are,"  said  Phineas,  peeping 
over  the  stone  breast-work  to  watch  the  assailants, 
who  were  coming  tumultuously  up  under  the  rocks. 
"  Let  'em  get  us,  if  they  can.  Whoever  comes  here 
has  to  walk  single  file  between  those  two  rocks,  in 
fair  range  of  your  pistols,  boys,  d  'ye  see  ?  " 

"  I  do  see,"  said  George  :  "  and  now,  as  this  mat- 
ter is  ours,  let  us  take  all  the  risk,  and  do  all  the 
fighting." 

"  Thee 's  quite  welcome  to  do  the  fighting,  George," 
said  Phineas,  chewing  some  checkerberry-leaves  as 
he  spoke  ;  "but  I  may  have  the  fun  of  looking  on, 
I  suppose.  But  see,  these  fellows  are  kinder  debat- 
ing down  there,  and  looking  up,  like  hens  when 
they  are  going  to  fly  up  on  to  the  roost.  Had  n't 
thee  better  give  'em  a  word  of  advice,  before  they 
come  up,  just  to  tell  'em  handsomely  they  '11  be  shot 
if  they  do  ? " 
.    The  party  beneath,  now  more   apparent  in  the 


280  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

light  of  the  dawn,  consisted  of  our  old  acquaintances, 
Tom  Loker  and  Marks,  with  two  constables,  and  a 
posse  consisting  of  such  rowdies  at  the  last  tavern 
as  could  be  engaged  by  a  little  brandy  to  go  and 
help  the  fun  of  trapping  a  set  of  niggers. 

"  Well,  Tom,  yer  coons  are  farly  treed,"  said  one, 

"  Yes,  I  see  'em  go  up  right  here,"  said  Tom ; 
"  and  here 's  a  path.  I  'm  for  going  right  up.  They 
can't  jump  down  in  a  hurry,  and  it  won't  take  long 
to  ferret  'em  out." 

"  But,  Tom,  they  might  fire  at  us  from  behind  the 
rocks,"  said  Marks.  "  That  would  be  ugly,  you 
know." 

"  Ugh  !  "  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer.  "  Always  for 
saving  your  skin,  Marks  !  No  danger  !  niggers  are 
too  plaguy  scared  ! " 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't  save  my  skin," 
said  Marks.  "  It 's  the  best  I  've  got ;  and  niggers 
do  fight  like  the  devil,  sometimes." 

At  this  moment,  George  appeared  on  the  top  of  a 
rock  above  them,  and  speaking  in  a  calm,  clear 
voice,  said, 

"  Gentlemen,  who  are  you,  down  there,  and  what 
do  you  want  ?  " 

"  We  want  a  party  of  runaway  niggers,"  said  Tom 
Loker.  "  One  George  Harris,  and  Eliza  Harris,, 
and  their  son,  and  Jim  Selden,  and  an  old  woman. 
We  've  got  the  officers,  here,  and  a  warrant  to  take 
'em;  and  we  're  going  to  have  'em,  too.  D'ye 
hear  ?  An't  you  George  Harris,  that  belongs  to  Mr. 
Harris,  of  Shelby  county,  Kentucky  ?  " 

"  I  am  George  Harris.  A  Mr.  Harris,  of  Ken- 
tucky, did  call  me  his  property.  But  now  I  'm  a 
free  man,  standing  on  God's  free  soil ;  and  my  wife 
and  my  child  I  claim  as  mine.     Jim  and  his  mother 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  251 

are  here.  We  have  arms  to  defend  ourselves,  and 
we  mean  to  do  it.  You  can  come  up,  if  you  like  ; 
but  the  first  one  of  you  that  comes  within  the  range 
of  our  bullets  is  a  dead  man,  and  the  next  and  the 
next ;  and  so  on  till  the  last." 

"  O,  come  !  come  !  "  said  a  short  puffy  man,  step- 
ping forward,  and  blowing  his  nose  as  he  did  so. 
"  Young  man,  this  an't  no  kind  of  talk  at  all  for 
you.  You  see,  we  're  officers  of  justice.  We  've 
got  the  law  on  our  side,  and  the  power,  and  so 
forth  ;  so  you  'd  better  give  up  peaceably,  you  see  ; 
for  you  '11  certainly  have  to  give  up,  at  last." 

"  I  know  very  well  that  you  've  got  the  law  on 
your  side,  and  the  power,"  said  George,  bitterly. 
"  You  mean  to  take  my  wife  to  sell  in  New  Orleans, 
and  put  my  boy  like  a  calf  in  a  trader's  pen,  and 
send  Jim's  old  mother  to  the  brute  that  whipped 
and  abused  her  before,  because  he  could  n't  abuse 
her  son.  You  want  to  send  Jim  and  me  back  to  be 
whipped  and  tortured,  and  ground  down  under  the 
heels  of  them  that  you  call  masters  ;  and  your  laws 
will  bear  you  out  in  it, — more  shame  for  you  and 
them  !  But  you  have  n't  got  us.  We  don't  own 
your  laws  ;  we  don't  own  your  country ;  we  stand 
here  as  free,  under  God's  sky,  as  you  are ;  and,  by 
the  great  God  that  made  us,  we  '11  fight  for  our 
liberty  till  we  die." 

George  stood  out  in  fair  sight,  on  the  top  of  the 
rock,  as  he  made  his  declaration  of  independence ; 
the  glow  of"  dawn  gave  a  flush  to  his  swarthy  cheek, 
and  bitter  indignation  and  despair  gave  fire  to  his 
dark  eye ;  and,  as  if  appealing  from  man  to  the 
justice  of  God,  he  raised  his  hand  to  heaven  as  he 
spoke. 

If  it  had  been   only  a   Hungarian   youth,    now 


282  UNCLE  tom's-  CABIN  :  OR, 

bravely  defending  in  some  mountain  fastness  the 
retreat  of  fugitives  escaping  from  Austria  into 
America,  this  would  have  been  sublime  heroism  ; 
but  as  it  was  a  youth  of  African  descent,  defending 
the  retreat  of  fugitives  through  America  into  Canada, 
of  course  we  are  too  well  instructed  and  patriotic  to 
see  any  heroism  in  it  ;  and  if  any  of  our  readers  do, 
they  must,  do  it  on  their  own  private  responsibility. 
When  despairing  Hungarian  fugitives  make  their 
way,  against  all  the  search-warrants  and  authorities 
of  their  lawful  government,  to  America,  press  and 
political  cabinet  ring  with  applause  and  welcome. 
When  despairing  African  fugitives  do  the  same 
thing, — it  is — what  is  it  ? 

Be  it  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  the  attitude,  eye, 
voice,  manner1,  of  the  speaker,  for  a  moment  struck 
the  party  below  to  silence.  There  is  something  in 
boldness  and  determination  that  for  a  time  hushes 
€ven  the  rudest  nature.  Marks  was  the  only  one 
who  remained  wholly  untouched.  He  was  deliber- 
ately cocking  his  pistol,  and,  in  the  momentary 
silence  that  followed  George's  speech,  he  fired  at 
him. 

"  Ye  see  ye  get  jist  as  much  for  him  dead  as  alive 
in  Kentucky,"  he  said,  coolly,  as  he  wiped  his  pistol 
on  his  coat-sleeve. 

George  sprang  backward, — Eliza  uttered  a  shriek, 
-^the  ball  had  passed  close  to  his  hair,  had  nearly 
grazed  the  cheek  of  his  wife,  and  struck  in  the  tree 
above. 

"  It 's  nothing,  Eliza,"  said  George,  quickly. 

"  Thee  'd  better  keep  out  of  sight,  with  thy  speech- 
ifying," said  Phineas  ;  "  they  're  mean  scamps." 

"  Now,  Jim,"  said  George,  "  look  that  your  pistols 
are  all  right,  and  watch  that  pass  with  me.     The  first 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  283 

man  that  shows  himself  I  fire  at ;  you  take  the 
second,  and  so  on.  It  won't  do,  you  know,  to  waste 
two  shots  on  one.1" 

"  But  what  if  you  don't  hit  ?  " 

"  I  shall  hit,"  said  George,  coolly. 

"Good!  now,  there's  stuff  in  that  fellow," 
muttered  Phineas,  between  his  teeth. 

The  party  below,  after  Marks  had  fired,  stood,  for 
a  moment,  rather  undecided. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  hit  some  on  'em,"  said 
one  of  the  men.     "  I  heard  a  squeal  !  " 

"  I  'm  going  right  up  for  one,"  said  Tom.  "  I 
never  was  afraid  of  niggers,  and  I  an't  going  to  be 
now.  Who  goes  after  ?  "  he  said,  springing  up  the 
rocks. 

George  heard  the  words  distinctly.  He  drew  up 
his  pistol,  examined  it,  pointed  it  towards  that  point 
in  the  defile  where  the  first  man  would  appear. 

One  of  the  most  courageous  of  the  party  followed 
Tom,  and,  the  way  being  thus  made,  the  whole 
party  began  pushing  up  the  rock, — the  hindermost 
pushing  the  front  ones  faster  than  they  would  have 
gone  of  themselves.  On  they  came,  and  in  a 
moment  the  burly  form  of  Tom  appeared  in  sight, 
almost  at  the  verge  of  the  chasm. 

George  fired, — the  shot  entered  his  side, — but, 
though  wounded,  he  would  not  retreat,  but,  with  a 
yell  like  that  of  a  mad  bull,  he  was  leaping  right 
across  the  chasm  into  the  party. 

"  Friend,"  said  Phineas,  suddenly  stepping  to  the 
front,  and  meeting  him  with  a  push  from  his  long 
arms,  "  thee  is  n't  wanted  here." 

Down  he  fell  into  the  chasm,  crackling  down 
among  trees,  bushes,  logs,  loose  stones,  till  he  lay, 
bruised  and  groaning,  thirty  feet  below.  The  fall 
20 


284  UNCLE  tom's  CABIN  :   OR, 

might  have  killed  him,  had  it  not  been  broken  and 
moderated  by  his  clothes  catching  in  the  branches 
of  a  large  tree  ;  but  he  came  down  with  some  forcer 
however, — more  than  was  at  all  agreeable  or  con- 
venient. 

"  Lord  help  us,  they  are  perfect  devils  ! "  said 
Marks,  heading  the  retreat  down  the  rocks  with 
much  more  of  a  will  than  he  had  joined  the  ascent, 
while  all  the  party  came  tumbling  precipitately  after 
him, — the  fat  constable,  in  particular,  blowing  and 
puffing  in  a  very  energetic  manner. 

"I  say,  fellers,"  said  Marks,  "you  jist  go  round 
and  pick  up  Tom,  there,  while  I  run  and  get  on  to 
my  horse,  to  go  back  for  help, — that 's  you  ■  "  and,, 
without  minding  the  hootings  and  jeers  of  his  com- 
pany, Marks  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  was  soon 
seen  galloping  away. 

"  Was  ever  such  a  sneaking  varmint  ?  "  said  one  of 
the  men ;  "  to  come  on  his  business,  and  he  clear 
out  and  leave  us  this  yer  way  !  " 

"  Well,  we  must  pick  up  that  feller,"  said  another. 
"  Cuss  me  if  I  much  care  whether  he  is  dead  or  alive." 

The  men,  led  by  the  groans  of  Tom,  scrambled 
and  crackled  through  stumps,  logs  and  bushes,  to 
where  that  hero  lay  groaning  and  swearing,  with 
alternate  vehemence. 

"  Ye  keep  it  agoing  pretty  loud,  Tom,"  said  one. 
"  Ye  much  hurt  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.  Get  me  up,  can't  ye  ?  Blast  that 
infernal  Quaker !  If  it  had  n't  been  for  him,  I  'd  a 
pitched  some  on  'em  down  here,  to  see  how  they 
liked  it." 

With  much  labor  and  groaning,  the  fallen  hero 
was  assisted  to  rise  ;  and,  with  one  holding  him  up 
under  each  shoulder,  they  got  him  as  far  as  the 
horses.  * 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  285 

"  If  you  could  only  get  me  a  mile  back  to  that  ar 
tavern.  Give  me  a  handkerchief  or  something,  to 
stuff  into  this  place,  and  stop  this  infernal  bleed- 
ing." 

George  looked  over  the  rocks,  and  saw  them  try- 
ing to  lift  the  burly  form  of  Tom  into  the  saddle. 
After  two  or  three  ineffectual  attempts,  he  reeled, 
and  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"O,  I  hope  he  is  n't  killed!"  said  Eliza,  who, 
with  all  the  party,  stood  watching  the  proceeding. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Phineas  ;   "  serves  him  right." 

"  Because,  after  death  comes  the  judgment,"  said 
Eliza. .  •'■    • 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  who  had  been  groan- 
ing and  praying,  in  her  Methodist  fashion,  during 
all  the  encounter,  "  it  's  an  awful  case  for  the  poor 
crittur's  soul." 

"  On  my  word,  they  're  leaving  him,  I  do  believe," 
said  Phineas. 

It  was  true  ;  for  after  some  appearance  of  irresolu- 
tion and  consultation,  the  whole  party  got  on  their 
horses  and  rode  away.  When  they  were  quite  out 
of  sight,  Phineas  began  to  bestir  himself. 

"  Well,  we  must  go  down  and  walk  a  piece,"  he 
said.  "  I  told  Michael  to  go  forward  and  bring 
help,  and  be  along  back  here  with  the  wagon ;  but 
we  shall  have  to  walk  a  piece  along  the  road,  I 
reckon,  to  meet  them.  The  Lord  grant  he  be  along 
soon  !  It  's  early  in  the  day  :  there  won't  be  much 
travel  afoot  yet  a  while ;  we  an't  much  more  than 
two  miles  from  our  stopping-place.  If  the  road 
had  n't  been  so  rough  last  night,  we  could  have 
outrun  'em  entirely." 

As  the  party  neared  the  fence,  they  discovered 
in  the  distance,  along  the  road,  their  own   wagon 


286  .UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

coming  back,  accompanied  by  some  men  on  horse- 
back. 

"  Well;  now,  there  's  Michael,  and  Stephen,  and 
Amariah  !  "  exclaimed  Phineas,  joyfully.  "  Now  we 
are  made, — as  safe  as  if  we  'd  got  there." 

V  Well,  do  stop,  then,"  said  Eliza,  "  and  do  some- 
thing for  that  poor  man  ;  he  's  groaning  dreadfully." 

"  It  would  be  no  more  than  Christian,"  said 
George  ;  "  let  's  take  him  up  and  carry  him  on." 

"  And  doctor  him  up  among  the  Quakers  !  "  said 
Phineas ;  "  pretty  well,  that !  Well,  I  don't  care  if 
we  do.  Here,  let  's  have  a  look  at  him ;  "  and 
Phineas,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  hunting  and 
backwoods  life,  had  acquired  some  rude  experience 
of  surgery,  kneeled  down  by  the  wounded  man,  and 
began  a  careful  examination  of  his  condition. 

"  Marks,"  said  Tom,  feebly,  "  is  that  you,  Marks  ? " 

"  No ;  I  reckon  't  an't,  friend,"  said  Phineas. 
"  Much  Marks  cares  for  thee,  if  his  own  skin  's  safe. 
He  's  off,  long  ago." 

"  I  believe  I  'm  done  for,"  said  Tom.  "  The 
cussed  sneaking  dog,  to  leave  me  to  die  alone  ! 
My  poor  old  mother  always  told  me  't  would  be  so." 

"  La  sakes  !  jist  hear  the  poor  crittur.  He  's  got 
a  mammy,  now,"  said  the  old  negress.  "  I  can  't 
help  kinder  pityin'  on  him." 

"  Softly,  softly  ;  don't  thee  snap  and  snarl,  friend," 
said  Phineas,  as  Tom  winced  and  pushed  his  hand 
away.  "  Thee  has  no  chance,  unless  I  stop  the 
bleeding."  And  Phineas  busied  himself  with  mak- 
ing some  off-hand  surgical  arrangements  with  his 
own  pocket-handkerchief,  and  such  as  could  be 
mustered  in  the  company. 

"  You  pushed  me  down  there,"  said  Tom,  faintly. 

"  Well,  if  I  had  n't,  thee  would  have  pushed  us 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  287 

down,  thee  sees,"  said  Phineas,  as  he  stooped  to 
apply  his  bandage.  "  There,  there, — let  me  fix  this 
bandage.  We  mean  well  to  thee ;  we  bear  no^ 
malice.  Thee  shall  be  taken  to  a  house  where  they  '11 
nurse  thee  first  rate, — as  well  as  thy  own  mother 
could." 

Tom  groaned,  and  shut  his  eyes.  In  men  of  his 
class,  vigor  and  resolution  are  entirely  a  physical 
matter,  and  ooze  out  with  the  flowing  of  the  blood  ; 
and  the  gigantic  fellow  really  looked  piteous  in  his 
helplessness. 

The  other  party  now  came  up.  The  seats  were 
taken  out  of  the  wagon.  The  buffalo-skins,  doubled 
in  fours,  were  spread  all  along  one  side,  and  four 
men,  with  great  difficulty,  lifted  the  heavy  form  of 
Tom  into  it.  Before  he  was  gotten  in,  he  fainted 
entirely.  The  old  negress,  in  the  abundance  of  her 
compassion,  sat  down  on  the  bottom,  and  took  his 
head  in  her  lap.  Eliza,  George  and  Jim,  bestowed 
themselves,  as  well  as  they  could,  in  the  remaining 
space,  and  the  whole  party  set  forward. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "said  George,  who 
sat  by  Phineas  in  front. 

"  Well,  it 's  only  a  pretty  deep  flesh-wound  ;  but, 
then,  tumbling  and  scratching  down  that  place 
didn't  help  him  much.  It  has  bled  pretty  freely, — 
pretty  much  dreaned  him  out,  courage  and  all, — but 
he  '11  get  over  it,  and  may  be  learn  a  thing  or  two  by 
it." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  George.  "  It 
would  always  be  a  heavy  thought  to  me,  if  I  'd 
caused  his  death,  even  in  a  just  cause." 

"  Yes,"  said  Phineas,  "  killing  is  an  ugly  opera- 
tion, any  way  they'll  fix  it, — man  or  beast.  I  've 
been  a  great  hunter,  in  my  day,  and  I  tell  thee  I  've 


2 88  "UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

seen  a  buck  that  was  shot  down,  and  a  dying,  look 
that  way  on  a  fellow  with  his  eye,  that  it  reely  most 
made  a  feller  feel  wicked  for  killing  on  him  ;  and 
human  creatures  is  a  more  serious  consideration  yet, 
bein',  as  thy  wife  says,  that  the  judgment  comes  to 
Jem  after  death.  So  I  don't  know  as  our  people's 
notions  on  these  matters  is  too  strict ;  and,  con- 
siderin'  how  I  was  raised,  I  fell  in  with  them  pretty 
considerably." 

"  What  shall  you  do  with  this  poor  fellow  ?  "  said 
George. 

"  O,  carry  him  along  to  Amariah's.  There 's  old 
Grandmam  Stephens  there, — Dorcas,  they  call  her, 
-—she  's  most  an  amazin'  nurse.  She  takes  to  nurs- 
ing real  natural,  and  an't  never  better  suited  than 
when  she  gets  a  sick  body  to  tend.  We  may  reckon 
on  turning  him  oyer  to  her  for  a  fortnight  or  so." 

A  ride  of  about  an  hourimore  brought  the  party  to 
a  neat  farm-house,  where  the  weary  travellers  were 
received  to  an  abundant  breakfast.  Tom  Loker 
was  soon  carefully  deposited  in  a  much  cleaner  and 
softer  bed  than  he.  had  ever  been  in  the  habit  of 
occupying.  His  wound  was  carefully  dressed  and 
bandaged,  and  he  lay  languidly  opening  and  shut- 
ting his  eyes  on  the  white  window-curtains  and 
gently-gliding  figures,  of  his  sick  room,  like  a  weary 
child.  And  here,  for  the  present,  we  shall  take  our 
leave  , of  one  party. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

miss  Ophelia's  experiences  and  opinions. 

Our  friend  Tom,  in  his  own  simple  musings,  often 
compared  his  more  fortunate  lot,  in  the  bondage  into 
which  he  was  cast,  with  that   of  Joseph   in  Egypt ; 


JLIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  289 

and,  in  fact,  as  time  went  on,  and  he  developed 
more  and  more  under  the  eye  of  his  master,  the 
strength  of  the  parallel  increased. 

St.  Clare  was  indolent  and  careless  of  money. 
Hitherto  the  providing  and  marketing  had  been 
principally  -done  by  Adolph,  who  was,  to  the  full,  as 
careless  and  extravagant  as  his  master ;  and,  be- 
tween them  both,  they  had  carried  on  the  dispersing 
process  with  great  alacrity.  Accustomed,  for  many 
years,  to  regard  his  master's  property  as  his  own 
care,  Tom  .saw,  with  an  uneasiness  he  could  scarce- 
ly repress,  the  wasteful, expenditure  of  the  establish- 
ment:; and,  In  the  quiet,  indirect  way  which  his 
class  often  acquire,  would  sometimes  make  his  own 
suggestions. 

St.  Clare  at  first  employed  him  occasionally ;  but, 
struck  with  his  soundness  of  mind  and  good  business 
capacity,  he  confided  in  him  more  and  more,  till 
gradually  all  the  marketing  and  providing  for  the 
family  were  intrusted  to  him. 

"  No,  no,,  Adolph,"  he  said,  one  day,  as  Adolph 
was  deprecating  the  passing  of  power  out  of  his 
hands,;  "let  Tom  alone.  You  only  understand 
what  you  want ;  Torn  understands  cost  and  come  to  ; 
and  there  may  be  some  end  to  money,  bye  and  bye 
if  we  don't  let  somebody  do  that." 

Trusted  to  an  unlimited  extent  by  a  careless 
master,  who  handed  him  a  bill  without  looking  at  it, 
and  pocketed  the  change  without  counting  it,  Tom 
had  every  facility  and  temptation  to  dishonesty;  and 
nothing  but  an  impregnable  simplicity  of  nature, 
.strengthened  by  Christian  faith  could  have  kept 
him  from  it  But,  to  that  nature,  the  very  unbounded 
trust  reposed  in  him  was  bond  and  seal  for  the  most 
.scrupulous  accuracy. 


290  »    UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

1 

With  Adolph  the  case  had  been  different. 
Thoughtless  and  self-indulgent,  and  unrestrained 
by  a  master  who  found  it  easier  to  indulge  than  to 
regulate,  he  had  fallen  into  an  absolute  confusion 
as  to  meum  tuum  with  regard  to  himself  and  his 
master,  which  sometimes  troubled  even  St.  Clare. 
His  own  good  sense  taught  him  that  such  a  training 
of  his  servants  was  unjust  and  dangerous.  A  sort 
of  chronic  remorse  went  with  him  everywhere,  al- 
though not  strong  enough  to  make  any  decided 
change  in  his  course  ;  and  this  very  remorse  reacted 
again  into  indulgence.  He  passed  lightly  over  the 
most  serious  faults,  because  he  told  himself  that,  if 
he  had  done  his  part,  his  dependents  had  not  fallen 
into  them. 

Tom  regarded  his  gay,  airy,  handsome  young- 
master  with  an  odd  mixture  of  fealty,  reverence,  and 
fatherly  solicitude.  That  he  never  read  the  Bible  ; 
never  went  to  church  ;  that  he  jested  and  made  free 
with  any  and  every  thing  that  came  in  the  way  of 
his  wit ;  that  he  spent  his  Sunday  evenings  at  the 
opera  or  theatre  ;  that  he  went  to  wine  parties,  and 
clubs,  and  suppers,  oftener  than  was  at  all  expedient,. 
— were  all  things  that  Tom  could  see  as  plainly  as 
anybody,  and  on  which  he  based  a  conviction  that 
"  Mas'r  was  n't  a  Christian  ;  " — a  conviction,  how- 
ever, which  he  would  have  been  very  slow  to  ex- 
press to  any  one  else,  but  on  which  he  founded 
many  prayers,  in  his  own  simple  fashion,  when  he 
was  by  himself  in  his  little  dormitory.  Not  that 
Tom  had  not  his  own  way  of  speaking  his  mind  oc- 
casionally, with  something  of  the  tact  often  observ- 
able in  his  class  ;  as,  for  example,  the  very  day  after 
the  Sabbath  we  have  described,  St.  Clare  was  invited 
out  to  a  convivial  party  of  choice  spirits,    and  was 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  29I 

helped  home,  between  one  and  two  o'clock  at  nighty 
in  a  condition  when  the  physical  had  decidedly  at- 
tained the  upper  hand  of  the  intellectual.  Tom  and 
Adolph  assisted  to  get  him  composed  for  the  night, 
the  latter  in  high  spirits,  evidently  regarding  the 
matter  as  a  good  joke,  and  laughing  heartily  at  the 
rusticity  of  Tom's  horror,  who  really  was  simple 
enough  to  lie  awake  most  of  the  rest  of  the  night, 
praying  for  his  young  master. 

"  Well,  Tom,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ? "  said  St. 
Clare,  the  next  day,  as  he  sat  in  his  library,  in 
dressing-gown  and  slippers.  St.  Clare  had  just 
been  entrusting  Tom  with  some  money,  and  various 
commissions.  "  Is  n't  all  right  there,  Tom  ?  "  he 
added,  as  Tom  still  stood  waiting. 

"  I  'm  'fraid  not,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  with  a  grave 
face. 

,  St.  Clare  laid  down  his  paper,  and  set  down  his 
coffee-cup,  and  looked  at  Tom. 

"  Why,  Tom,  what  's  the  case  ?  You  look  as 
solemn  as  a  coffin." 

"  I  feel  very  bad,  Mas'r.  I  allays  have  thought 
that  Mas'r  would  be  good  to  everybody." 

"  Well,  Tom,  have  n't  I  been  ?  Come,  now,  what 
do  you  want  ?  There  's  something  you  have  n't 
got,  I  suppose,  and  this  is  the  preface." 

"  Mas'r  allays  been  good  to  me.  I  have  n't 
nothing  to  complain  of,  on  that  head.  But  there  is 
one  that  Mas'r  is  n't  good  to." 

"  Why,  Tom,  what  's  got  into  you  ?  Speak  out ; 
what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Last  night,  between  one  and  two,  I  thought  so. 
I  studied  upon  the  matter  then.  Mas'r  is  n't  good 
to  himself." 

Tom  said  this  with  his  back  to  his  master,  and 


•292  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

liis  hand  on  the  door-knob.     St.  Clare  felt  his  face 
flush  crimson,  but  he  laughed. 

"  O,  that  's  all,  is  it  ? "  he  said,  gayly. 

"  All ! "  said  Tom,  turning  suddenly  round,  and 
falling  on  his  knees.  "  O,  my  dear  young  Mas'r  ! 
I  'm  'fraid  it  will  be  loss  of  all — all — body  and  soul. 
The  good  Book  says,  '  it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and 
stingeth  like  an  adder  ! '  my  dear  Mas'r  !  " 

Tom's  voice  choked,  and  the  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks. 

"You  poor,  silly  fool !  "  said  St.  Clare,  with  tears 
In  his  own  eyes.     "  Get  up,  Tom.     I  'm  not  worth  * 
crying  over." 

But  Tom  would  n't  rise,  and  looked  imploring. 

"  Well,  I  won't  go  to  any  more  of  their  cursed 
nonsense,  Tom,"  said  St.  Clare  ;  "  on  my  honor,  I 
won't.  I  don't  know  why  I  have  n't  stopped  long 
ago.  I  Ve  always  despised  it,  and  myself  for  it, — 
so  now,  Tom,  wipe  up  your  eyes,  and  go  about  your 
errands.  Come,  come,"  he  added,  "  no  blessings. 
I  'm  not  so  wonderfully  good,  now,"  he  said,  as  he 
gently  pushed  Tom  to  the  door.  "  There,  I  '11 
pledge  my  honor  to  you,  Tom,  you  don't  see  me  so 
again,"  he  said  ;  and  Tom  went  off,  wiping  his  eyes 
with  great  satisfaction. 

"  I  '11  keep  my  faith  with  him,  too,"  said  St.  Clare, 
as  he  closed  the  door. 

And  St.  Clare  did  so, — for  gross  sensualism,  in 
any  form,  was  not  the  peculiar  temptation  of  his 
nature. 

But,  all  this  time,  who  shall  detail  the  tribulations 
manifold  of  our  friend  Miss  Ophelia,  who  had  begun 
the  labors  of  a  Southern  housekeeper  ? 

There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  in  the 
servants   of  Southern  establishments,   according  to 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  293 

the  character  and  capacity  of  the  mistresses  who 
have  brought  them  up. 

South  as  well  as  north,  there  are  women  who  have 
an  extraordinary  talent  for  command,  and  tact  in 
educating.  Such  are  enabled,  with  apparent  ease, 
and  without  severity,  to  subject  to  their  will,  and 
bring  into  harmonious  and  systematic  order,  the 
various  members  of  their  small  estate, — to  regulate 
their  peculiarities,  and  so  balance  and  compensate 
the  deficiencies  of  one  by  the  excess  of  another,  as 
to  produce  a  harmonious  and  orderly  system. 

Such  a  housekeeper  was  Mrs.  Shelby,  whom  we 
have  already  described  ;  and  such  our  readers  may 
remember  to  have  met  with.  If  they  are  not  com- 
mon at  the  South,  it  is  because  they  are  not  common 
in  the  world.  They  are  to  be  found  there  as  often 
as  anywhere  ;  and,  when  existing,  find  in  that  pecul- 
iar state  of  society  a  brilliant  opportunity  to  exhibit 
their  domestic  talent. 

Such  a  housekeeper  Marie  St.  Clare  was  not,  nor 
her  mother  before  her.  Indolent  and  childish,  un- 
systematic and  improvident,  it  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  servants  trained  under  her  care  should 
not  be  so  likewise ;  and  she  had  very  justly  de- 
scribed to  Miss  Ophelia  the  state  of  confusion  she 
would  find  in  the  family,  though  she  had  not  ascribed 
it  to  the  proper  cause. 

The  first  morning  of  her  regency,  Miss  Ophelia 
was  up  at  four  o'clock  ;  and  having  attended  to  all 
the  adjustments  of  her  own  chamber,  as  she  had 
done  ever  since  she  came  there,  to  the  great  amaze- 
ment of  the  chambermaid,  she  prepared  for  a  vigor- 
ous onslaught  ort  the  cupboards  and  closets  of  the 
establishment  of  which  she  had  the  keys. 

The  store-room,  the  linen-presses,  the  china-closet, 


294  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

the  kitchen  and  cellar,  that  day,  all  went  under  art 
awful  review.  Hidden  things  of  darkness  were 
brought  to  light  to  an  extent  that  alarmed  all  the 
principalities  and  powers  of  kitchen  and  chamber, 
and.  caused  many  wonderings  and  murmurings 
about  "  dese  yer  northern  ladies  "  from  the  domestic 
cabinet. 

Old  Dinah,  the  head  cook,  and  principal  of  all 
rule  and  authority  in  the  kitchen  department,  was 
filled  with  wrath  at  what  she  considered  an  invasion 
of  privilege.  No  feudal  baron  in  Magna  Charta 
times  could  have  more  thoroughly  resented  some 
incursion  of  the  crown. 

Dinah  was  a  character  in  her  own  way,  and  ft 
would  be  injustice  to  her  memory  not  to  give  the 
reader  a  little  idea  of  her.  She  was  a  native  and 
essential  cook,  as  much  as  Aunt  Chloe, — cooking- 
being  an  indigenous  talent  of  the  African  race  ;  but 
Chloe  was  a  trained  and  methodical  one,  who  moved 
in  an  orderly  domestic  harness,  while  Dinah  was  a. 
self-taught  genius,  and,  like  geniuses  in  general, 
was  positive,  opinionated  and  erratic,  to  the  last 
degree. 

Like  a  certain  class  of  modern  philosophers, 
Dinah  perfectly  scorned  logic  and  reason  in  every 
shape,  and  always  took  refuge  in  intuitive  certainty ; 
and  here  she  was  perfectly  impregnable.  No  pos- 
sible amount  of  talent,  or  authority,  or  explanation,, 
could  ever  make  her  believe  that  any  other  way  was 
better  than  her  own,  or  that  the  course  she  had 
pursued  in  the  smallest  matter  could  be  in  the  least 
modified.  This  had  been  a  conceded  point  with  her 
old  mistress,  Marie's  mother  ;  and  "  Miss  Marie,"  as 
Dinah  always  called  her  young  mistress,  even  after 
her  marriage,  found  it  easier  to  submit  than  contend  r 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  295 

and  so  Dinah  had  ruled  supreme.  This  was  the 
easier,  in  that  she  was  perfect  mistress  of  that 
diplomatic  art  which  unites  the  utmost  subservience 
of  manner  with  the  utmost  inflexibility  as  to  measure. 

Dinah  was  mistress  of  the  whole  art  and  mystery 
of  excuse-making,  in  all  its  branches.  Indeed,  it 
~was  an  axiom  with  her  that  the  cook  can  do  no 
wrong ;  and  a  cook  in  a  Southern  kitchen  finds 
abundance  of  heads  and  shoulders  on  which  to  lay 
off  every  sin  and  frailty,  so  as  to  maintain  her  own 
immaculateness  entire.  If  any  part  of  the  dinner 
was  a  failure,  there  were  fifty  indisputably  good 
reasons  for  it ;  and  it  was  the  fault  undeniably  of 
fifty  other  people,  whom  Dinah  berated  with  unspar- 
ing zeal. 

But  it  was  very  seldom  that  there  was  any  failure 
in  Dinah's  last  results.  Though  her  mode  of  doing 
everything  was  peculiarly  meandering  and  circuitous, 
and  without  any  sort  of  calculation  as  to  time  and 
place, — though  her  kitchen  generally  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  arranged  by  a  hurricane  blowing  through 
it,  and  she  had  about  as  many  places  for  each  cook- 
ing utensil  as  there  were  days  in  the  year, — yet,  if 
one  would  have  patience  to  wait  her  own  good  time, 
up  would  come  her  dinner  in  perfect  order,  and  in 
a  style  of  preparation  with  which  an  epicure  could 
find  no  fault. 

It  was  now  the  season  of  incipient  preparation 
for  dinner.  Dinah,  who  required  large  intervals  of 
reflection  and  repose,  and  was  studious  of  ease  in  all 
her  arrangements,  was  seated  on  the  kitchen  floor, 
smoking  a  short,  stumpy  pipe,  to  which  she  was  much 
addicted,  and  which  she  always  kindled  up,  as  a  sort 
of  censer  whenever  she  felt  the  need  of  an  inspira- 
tion in  her  arrangements.  It  was  Dinah's  mode  of 
invoking  the  domestic  Muses. 


296  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  i    OR, 

Seated  around  her  were  various  members  of  that 
rising  race  with  which  a  Southern  household 
abounds,  engaged  in  shelling  peas,  peeling  potatoes, 
picking  pin-feathers  out  of  fowls,  and  other  pre- 
paratory arrangements, — Dinah  every  once  in  a 
while  interrupting  her  meditations  to  give  a  poke,. 
or  a  rap  on  the  head,  to  some  of  the  young  operators,, 
with  the  pudding-stick  that  lay  by  her  side.  In  fact, 
Dinah  ruled  over  the  woolly  heads  of  the  younger 
members  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  seemed  to  consider 
them  born  for  no  earthly  purpose  but  to  "  save  her 
steps,"  as  she  phrased  it.  It  was  the  spirit  of  the 
system  under  which  she  had  grown  up,  and  she 
carried  it  out  to  its  full  extent. 

Miss  Ophelia,  after  passing  on  her  reformatory 
tour  through  all  the  other  parts  of  the  establishment, 
now  entered  the  kitchen.  Dinah  had  heard,  from 
various  sources,  what  was  going  on,  and  resolved 
to  stand  on  defensive  and  conservative  ground, 
mentally  determined  to  oppose  and  ignore  every 
new  measure,  without  any  actual  and  observable 
contest. 

The  kitchen  was  a  large  brick-floored  apartment, 
with  a  great  old-fashioned  fireplace  stretching  along 
one  side  of  it, — an  arrangement  which  St.  Clare  had 
vainly  tried  to  persuade  Dinah  to  exchange  for  the 
convenience  of  a  modern  cook-stove.  Not  she.  No 
Puseyite,  or  conservative  of  any  school,  was  ever 
more  inflexibly  attached  to  time-honored  inconven- 
iencies  than  Dinah. 

When  St.  Clare  had  first  returned  from  the  north, 
impressed  with  the  system  and  order  of  his  uncle's 
kitchen  arrangements,  he  had  largely  provided  his 
own  with  an  array  of  cupboards,  drawers,  and 
various  apparatus,  to  induce  systematic  regulation, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  297 

under  the  sanguine  illusion  that  it  would  be  of  any 
possible  assistance  to  Dinah  in  her  arrangements. 
He  might  as  well  have  provided  them  for  a  squirrel 
or  a  magpie.  The  more  drawers  and  closets  there 
were,  the  more  hiding-holes  could  Dinah  make  for 
the  accommodation  of  old  rags,  hair-combs,  old 
shoes,  ribbons,  cast-off  artificial  flowers,  and  other 
articles  of  vertu  wherein  her  soul  delighted. 

When  Miss  Ophelia  entered  the  kitchen,  Dinah 
did  not  rise,  but  smoked  on  in  sublime  tranquillity, 
regarding  her  movements  obliquely  out  of  the  corner 
of  her  eye,  but  apparently  intent  only. on  the  opera- 
tions around  her. 

Miss  Ophelia  commenced  opening  a  set  of  drawers. 

"  What  is  this  drawer  for,  Dinah  ?  "  she  said. 

"It's  handy  for  most  anything,  Missis,"  said 
Dinah.  So  it  appeared  to  be.  From  the  variety  it 
contained,  Miss  Ophelia  pulled  out  first  a  fine 
damask  table-cloth  stained  with  blood,  having  evi- 
dently been  used  to  envelop  some  raw  meat. 

"  What 's  this,  Dinah  ?  You  don't  wrap  up  meat 
in  your  mistress'  best  table-cloths  ? " 

"  O  Lor,  Missis,  no  ;  the  towels  was  all  a  missing 
— so  I  jest  did  it.  I  laid  out  to  wash  that  ar, — that  '& 
why  I  put  it  thar." 

"  Shif'less  !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia  to  herself,  pro- 
ceeding to  tumble  over  the  drawer,  where  she  found 
a  nutmeg-grater  and  two  or  three  nutmegs,  a  Metho- 
dist hymn-book,  a  couple  of  soiled  Madras  hand- 
kerchiefs, some  yarn  and  knitting-work,  a  paper  of 
tobacco  and  a  pipe,  a  few  crackers,  one  or  two  gilded 
china-saucers  with  some  pomade  in  them,  one  or 
two  thin  old  shoes,  a  piece  of  flannel  carefully 
pinned  up  enclosing  some  small  white  onions, 
several  damask  table-napkins,  some   coarse    crash. 


2qS  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR,     * 

towels,  some  twine  and  darning-needles,  and  several 
broken  papers,  from  which  sundry  sweet  herbs  were 
sifting  into  the  drawer. 

"  Where  do  you  keep  your  nutmegs,  Dinah  ? " 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  with  the  air  of  one  who  prayed 
for  patience. 

"  Most  anywhar,  Missis ;  there 's  some  in  that 
cracked  tea-cup,  up  there,  and  there 's  some  over  in 
that  ar  cupboard. " 

"  Here  are  some  in  the  grater,"  said  Miss  Ophelia, 
holding  them  up. 

"  Laws,  yes,  I  put  'em  there  this  morning, — I  likes 
to  keep  my  thijigs  handy,"  said  Dinah.  "You, 
Jake  !  what  are  you  stopping  for  !  You  '11  cotch  it ! 
Be  still,  thar  !  "  she  added,  with  a  dive  of  her  stick 
at  the  criminal. 

"  What 's  this  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  holding  up 
the  saucer  of  pomade. 

"  Laws,  it's  my  h  ar  ^raz.5*?  / — I  put  it  thar  to  have 
it  handy." 

"  Do  you  use  your  mistress'  best  saucers  for 
that  ?  " 

"  Law  !  it  was  cause  I  was  driv,  and  in  sich  a 
hurry  ; — I  was  gwine  to  change  it  this  very  day." 

"  Here  are  two  damask  table-napkins." 

"  Them  table-napkins  I  put  thar,  to  get  'em  washed 
out,  some  day." 

"  Don't  you  have  some  place  here  on  purpose  for 
things  to  be  washed  ? " 

"  Well,  Mas'r  St.  Clare  got  dat  ar  chest,  he  said, 
for  dat ;  but  I  likes  to  mix  up  biscuit  and  hev  my 
things  on  it  some  days,  and  then  it  an't  handy  a 
liftin'  up  the  lid." 

"  Why  don't  you  mix  your  biscuits  on  the  pastry- 
table,  there  ?  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  299 

"  Law,  Missis,  it  gets  sot  so  full  of  dishes,  and 
3ne  thing  and  another,  der  an't  no  room,  noways — " 

"  But  you  should  wash  your  dishes,  and  clear 
them  away." 

"Wash  my  dishes  !  "  said  Dinah,  in  a  high  key,  as 
her  wrath  began  to  rise  over  her  habitual  respect  of 
manner ;  "  what  does  ladies  know  'bout  work,  I 
want  to  know  ?  When  'd  Mas'r  ever  get  his  dinner, 
if  I  was  to  spend  all  my  time  a  washin'  and  a  puttin' 
up  dishes?     Miss  Marie  never  telled  me  so,  nohow." 

"  Well,  here  are  these  onions." 

"  Laws,  yes  !  "  said  Dinah  ;  "  thar  is  whar  I  put 
'em,  now.  I  could  n't  'member.  Them  's  particular 
onions  I  was  a  savin'  for  dis  yer  very  stew.  I  'd 
forgot  they  was  in  dat  ar  old  flannel." 

Miss  Ophelia  lifted  out  the  sifting  papers  of  sweet 
herbs. 

"  I  wish  Missis  would  n't  touch  dem  ar.  I  likes 
to  keep  my  things  where  I  knows  whar  to  go  to  'em," 
said  Dinah,  rather  decidedly. 

"  But  you  don't  want  these  holes  in  the  papers." 

"  Them  's  handy  for  siftin'  on 't  out,"  said  Dinah. 

"  But  you  see  it  spills  all  over  the  drawer." 

"  Laws,  yes  !  if  Missis  will  go  a  tumblin'  things  all 
up  so,  it  will.  Missis  has  spilt  lots  dat  ar  way,"  said 
Dinah,  coming  uneasily  to  the  drawers.  "  If  Missis 
only  will  go  upstars  till  my  clarin'  up  time  comes, 
I  '11  have  everything  right ;  but  I  can't  do  nothin' 
when  ladies  is  round,  a  henderin'.  You,  Sam,  don't 
you  gib  the  baby  dat  ar  sugar-bowl !  I  '11  crack  ye 
over,  if  ye  don't  mind  !  " 

"  I  rm  going  through  the  kitchen,  and  going  to  put 
everything  in  order,  once,  Dinah  ;  and  then  I  '11  ex- 
pect you  to  keep  it  so." 
-    "  Lor,  now  !  Miss  Phelia  ;  dat  ar  an't  no  way  for 

21 


300  UNCLE   TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

ladies  to  do.  I  never  did  see  ladies  doin'  no  sich  ; 
my  old  Missis  nor  Miss  Marie  never  did,  and  I 
don't  see  no  kinder  need  on  't ;  "  and  Dinah  stalked 
indignantly  about,  while  Miss  Ophelia  piled  and 
sorted  dishes,  emptied  dozens  of  scattering  bowls  of 
sugar  into  one  receptacle,  sorted  napkins,  table- 
cloths, and  towels,  for  washing ;  washing,  wiping, 
and  arranging  with  her  own  hands,  and  with  a  speed 
and  alacrity  which  perfectly  amazed  Dinah. 

"  Lor,  now  !  if  dat  ar  de  way  dem  northern  ladies 
do,  dey  an't  ladies,  nohow,"  she  said  to  some  of  her 
satellites,  when  at  a  safe  hearing  distance.  "  I  has 
things  as  straight  as  anybody,  When  my  clarin'  up 
time  comes ;  but  I  don't  want  ladies  round,  a 
henderin',  and  getting  my  things  all  where  I  can't 
find 'em." 

To  do  Dinah  justice,  she  had,  at  irregular  periods, 
paroxysms  of  reformation  and  arrangement,  which 
she  called  "  clarin'  up  times,"  when  she  would  begin 
with  great  zeal,  and  turn  every  drawer  and  closet 
wrong  side  outward,  on  to  the  floor  or  tables,  and 
make  the  ordinary  confusion  seven-fold  more  con- 
founded. Then  she  would  light  her  pipe,  and 
leisurely  go  over  her  arrangements,  looking  things 
over,  and  discoursing  upon  them  ;  making  all  the 
young  fry  scour  most  vigorously  on  the  tin  things, 
aud  keeping  up  for  several  hours  a  most  energetic 
state  of  confusion,  which  she  would  explain  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  inquirers,  by  the  remark  that  she 
was  a  "  clarin'  up."  "  She  could  n't  hev  things  a 
gwine  on  so  as  they  had  been,  and  she  was  gwine 
to  make  these  yer  young  ones  keep  better  order ;  " 
for  Dinah  herself,  somehow,  indulged  the  illusion 
that  she,  herself,  was  the  soul  of  order,  and  it  was 
only  the  young  uns,  and  the  everybody  else  in  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  3OI 

house,  that  were  the  cause  of  anything  that  fell  short 
of  perfection  in  this  respect.  When  all  the  tins 
were  scoured,  and  the  tables  scrubbed  snowy  white, 
and  everything  that  could  offend  tucked  out  of  sight 
in  holes  and  corners,  Dinah  would  dress  herself  up 
in  a  smart  dress,  clean  apron,  and  high,  brilliant 
1  Madras  turban,  and  tell  all  marauding  "  young  uns  " 
to  keep  out  of  the  kitchen,  for  she  was  gwine  to  have 
things  kept  nice.  Indeed,  these  periodic  seasons 
were  often  an  inconvenience  to  the  whole  household ; 
for  Dinah  would  contract  such  an  immoderate  at- 
tachment to  her  scoured  tin,  as  to  insist  upon  it 
that  it  should  n't  be  used  again  for  any  possible  pur- 
pose,— at  least,  till  the  ardor  of  the  "  clarin'  up " 
period  abated. 

Miss  Ophelia,  in  a  few  days,  thoroughly  reformed 
every  department  of  the  house  to  a  systematic  pat- 
tern ;  but  her  labors  in  all  departments  that  de- 
pended on  the  cooperation  of  servants  were  like 
those  of  Sisyphus  or  the  Danaides.  In  despair,  she 
one  day  appealed  to  St.  Clare. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  getting  anything  like 
system  in  this  family !  " 

';  To  be  sure,  there  is  n't,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Such  shiftless  management,  such  waste,  such 
confusion,  I  never  saw  !  " 

"  I  dare  say  you  did  n't." 

"  You  would  not  take  it  so  coolly,  if  you  were 
housekeeper." 

"  My  dear  cousin,  you  may  as  well  understand, 
once  for  all,  that  we  masters  are  divided  into  two 
classes,  oppressors  and  oppressed.  We  who  are 
good-natured  and  hate  severity  make  up  our  minds 
to  a  good  deal  of  inconvenience.  If  we  will  keep  a 
shambling,  loose,  untaught  set  in  the  community,  for 


302  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

our  convenience,  why,  we  must  take  the  consequence. 
Some  rare  cases  I  have  seen,  of  persons,  who,  by  a 
peculiar  tact,  can  produce  order  and  system  without 
severity  ;  but  I  'm  not  one  of  them, — and  so  I  made 
up  my  mind,  long  ago,  to  let  things  go  just  as  they 
do.  I  will  not  have  the  poor  devils  thrashed  and  cut 
to  pieces,  and  they  know  it, — and,  of  course,  they 
know  the  staff  is  in  their  own  hands." 

"  But  to  have  no  time,  no  place,  no  order, — all  go- 
ing on  in  this  shiftless  way  !  " 

"  My  dear  Vermont,  you  natives  up  by  the  North 
Pole  set  an  extravagant  value  on  time  !  What  on 
earth  is  the  use  of  time  to  a  fellow  who  has  twice  as 
much  of  it  as  he  knows  what  to  do  with  ?  As  to 
order  and  system,  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  lounge  on  the  sofa  and  read,  an  hour  sooner 
or  later  in  breakfast  or  dinner  is  n't  of  much  account. 
Now,  there  's  Dinah  gets  you  a  capital  dinner, — soup, 
ragout,  roast  fowl,  dessert,  ice-creams  and  all, — and 
she  creates  it  all  out  of  chaos  and  old  night  down 
there,  in  that  kitchen.  I  think  it  really  sublime,  the 
way  she  manages.  But,  Heaven  bless  us  !  if  we  are 
to  go  down  there,  and  view  all  the  smoking  and 
squatting  about,  and  hurryscurryation  of  the  prepar- 
atory process,  we  should  never  eat  more  !  My  good 
cousin,  absolve  yourself  from  that !  It  's  more  than 
a  Catholic  penance,  and  does  no  more  good.  You  '11 
only  lose  your  own  temper,  and  utterly  confound 
Dinah.     Let  her  go  her  own  way." 

"  But,  Augustine,  you  don't  know  how  I  found 
things." 

"  Don't  I  ?  Don't  I  know  that  the  rolling-pin  is 
under  her  bedj  and  the  nutmeg-grater  in  her  pocket 
with  her  tobacco, — that  there  are  sixty-five  different 
sugar-bowls,  one  in  every  hole  in  the  house, — that 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  303 

she  washes  dishes  with  a  dinner-napkin  one  day, 
and  with  a  fragment  of  an  old  petticoat  the  next  ? 
But  the  upshot  is,  she  gets  up  glorious  dinners,  makes 
superb  coffee ;  and  you  must  judge  her  as  warriors 
and  statesmen  are  judged,  by  her  success" 

"  But  the  waste, — the  expense  !  " 

"  O,  well !  Lock  everything  you  can,  and  keep 
the  key.  Give  out  by  driblets,  and  never  inquire 
for  odds  and  ends, — it  is  n't  best." 

"  That  troubles  me,  Augustine.  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing as  if  these  servants  were  not  strictly  honest.  Are 
you  sure  they  can  be  relied  on  ?  "    . 

Augustine  laughed  immoderately  at  the  grave  and 
anxious  face  with  which  Miss  Ophelia  propounded 
the  question. 

"  O,  cousin,  that 's  too  good, — ho?iest  1 — as  if  that 's 
a  thing  to  be  expected  !  Honest  I — why,  of  course,, 
they  arn't.  Why  should  they  be  ?  What  upon 
earth  is  to  make  them  so  ?  " 

"  Why  don  't  you  instruct  ?  " 

"  Instruct !  O,  fiddlestick  !  What  instructing  do 
you  think  I  should  do  ?  I  look  like  it !  As  to  Marie, 
she  has  spirit  enough,  to  be  sure,  to  kill  off  a  whole 
plantation,  if  I  'd  let  her  manage  ;  but  she  would  n  't 
get  the  cheatery  out  of  them." 

"  Are  there  no  honest  ones  ?  " 

"  Well,  now  and  then  one,  whom  Nature  makes 
so  impracticably  simple,  truthful  and  faithful,  that 
the  worst  possible  influence  can't  destroy  it.  But, 
you  see,  from  the  mother's  breast  the  colored  child 
feels  and  sees  that  there  are  none  but  underhand 
ways  open  to  it.  It  can  get  along  no  other  way- 
with  its  parents,  its  mistress,  its  young  master  and 
missie  playfellows.  Cunning  and  deception  become 
necessary,  inevitable  habits.     It  is  n't  fair  to  expect 


304  UNCLE   TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

anything  else  of  him.  He  ought  not  to  be  punished 
for  it.  As  to  honesty,  the  slave  is  kept  in  that  de- 
pendent, semi-childish  state,  that  there  is  no  making 
him  realize  the  rights  of  property,  or  feel  that  his 
master's  goods  are  not  his  own,  if  he  can  get  them. 
For  my  part,  I  don't  see  how  they  can  be  honest. 
Such  a  fellow  as  Tom,  here,  is — is  a  moral  miracle  !  " 

■  •  And  what  becomes  of  their  souls  ? "  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"That  is  n't  my  affair  as  I  know  of,"  said  St. 
Clare ;  "  I  am  only  dealing  in  facts  of  the  present 
life.  The  fact  is,  that  the  whole  race  are  pretty 
generally  understood  to  be  turned  over  to  the  devil, 
for  our  benefit,  in  this  world,  however  it  may  turn 
out  in  another  I  " 

"  This  is  perfectly  horrible !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia ; 
"  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  am.  We  are  in  pretty  good 
company,  for  all  that,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  as  people 
in  the  broad  road  generally  are.  Look  at  the  high 
and  the  low,  all  the  world  over,  and  it 's  the  same 
story, — the  lower  class  used  up,  body,  soul  and  spirit, 
for  the  good  of  the  upper.  It  is  so  in  England  ;  it 
is  so  everywhere ;  and  yet  all  Christendom  stands 
aghast,  with  virtuous  indignation,  because  we  do  the 
thing  in  a  little  different  shape  from  what  they  do  it." 

"It  is  n't  so  in  Vermont." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  New  England,  and  in  the  free  States, 
you  have  the  better  of  us,  I  grant.  But  there 's  the 
bell ;  so,  Cousin,  let  us  for  a  while  lay  aside  our 
sectional  prejudices,  and  come  out  to  dinner." 

As  Miss  Ophelia  was  in  the  kitchen  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  afternoon,  some  of  the  sable  children 
called  out,  "  La,  sakes  !  thar  's  Prue  a  coming, 
grunting  along  like  she  allers  does." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  305 

A  tall,  bony  colored  woman  now  entered  the 
kitchen,  bearing  on  her  head  a  basket  of  rusks  and 
hot  rolls. 

"  Ho,  Prue  !  you  've  come,"  said  Dinah. 

Prue  had  a  peculiar  scowling  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, and  a  sullen,  grumbling  voice.  She  set 
down  her  basket,  squatted  herself  down,  and  resting 
her  elbows  on  her  knees  said, 

"  O  Lord  !  I  wish  't  I 's  dead  ! 

"  Why  do  you  wish  you  were  dead  ?  "  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  I  'd  be  out  o'  my  misery,"  said  the  woman,  gruffly, 
without  taking  her  eyes  from  the  floor. 

"  What  need  you  getting  drunk,  then,  and  cutting 
up,  Prue  ?  "  said  a  spruce  quadroon  chambermaid, 
dangling,  as  she  spoke,  a  pair  of  coral  ear-drops. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  with  a  sour,  surly 
glance. 

"  Maybe  you  '11  come  to  it,  one  of  these  yer  days. 
I  'd  be  glad  to  see  you,  I  would ;  then  you  '11  be 
glad  of  a  drop,  like  me,  to  forget  your  misery." 

"  Come,  Prue,"  said  Dinah,  "  let 's  look  at  your 
rusks.     Here  's  Missis  will  pay  for  them." 

Miss  Ophelia  took  out  a  couple  of  dozen. 

"  Thar  's  some  tickets  in  that  ar  old  cracked  jug 
on  the  top  shelf,"  said  Dinah.  "You,  Jake,  climb 
up  and  get  it  down." 

"  Tickets, — what  are  they  for  ? "  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  We  buys  tickets  of  her  Mas'r,  and  she  gives  us 
bread  for  'em." 

"  And  they  counts  my  money  and  tickets,  when 
I  gets  home,  to  see  if  I 's  got  the  change ;  and  if  I 
han  't,  they  half  kills  me." 

"  And   serves   you   right,"    said   Jane,   the    pert 


306  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

chambermaid,  "  if  you  will  take  their  money  to  get 
drunk  on.     That 's  what  she  does,  Missis." 

"  And  that 's  what  I  will  do, — I  can  't  live  no 
other  ways,— drink  and  forget  my  misery." 

"  You  are  very  wicked  and  very  foolish,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia,  "  to  steal  your  master's  money  to 
make  yourself  a  brute  with." 

"  It 's  mighty  likely,  Missis  ;  but  I  will  do  it, — 
yes,  I  will.  O  Lord  !  I  wish  I 's  dead,  I  do, — I 
wish  I 's  dead,  and  out  of  my  misery  !  "  and  slowly 
and  stiffly  the  old  creature  rose,  and  got  her  basket 
on  her  head  again  ;  but  before  she-  went  out,  she 
looked  at  the  quadroon  girl,  who  still  stood  play- 
ing with  her  ear-drops. 

"  Ye  think  ye  're  mighty  fine  with  them  ar,  a 
frolickin'  and  a  tossin'  your  head,  and  a  lookin7 
down  on  everybody.  Well,  never  mind, — you  may 
live  to  be  a  poor,  old,  cut-up  crittur,  like  me.  Hope 
to  the  Lord  ye  will,  I  do ;  then  see  if  ye  won't  drink, 
— drink, — drink, — yerself  into  torment ;  and  sarve 
ye  right,  too — ugh  !  "  and,  with  a  malignant  howl, 
the  woman  left  the  room. 

11  Disgusting  old  beast !  "  said  Adolph,  who  was 
getting  his  master's  shaving- water.  "  If  I  was  her 
master,  I  'd  cut  her  up  worse  than  she  is." 

"  Ye  could  n't  do  that  ar,  no  ways,"  said  Dinah. 
"  Her  back  's  a  far  sight  now, — she  can't  never  get 
a  dress  together  over  it." 

"  I  think  such  low  creatures  ought  not  to  be  al- 
lowed to  go  round  to  genteel  families,"  said  Miss 
Jane.  "  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  St.  Clare  ? "  she 
said,  coquettishly  tossing  her  head  at  Adolph. 

It  must  be  observed  that,  among  other  appropria- 
tions from  his  master's  stock,  Adolph  was  in  the 
habit  of  adopting  his  name  and  address ;  and  that 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  307 

the  style  under  which  he  moved,  among  the  colored 
circles  of  New  Orleans,  was  that  of  Mr.  St.  Clare. 

"  I  'm  certainly  of  your  opinion,  Miss  Benoir," 
said  Adolph. 

Benoir  was  the  name  of  Marie  St.  Clare's  family, 
and  Jane  was  one  of  her  servants. 

"  Pray,  Miss  Benoir,  may  I  be  allowed  to  ask  if 
those  drops  are  forthe ball,  to-morrow  night  ?  They 
are  certainly  bewitching  !  " 

"  I  wonder,  now,  Mr.  St.  Clare,  what  the  impu- 
dence of  you  men  will  come  to  !  "  said  Jane,  tossing 
her  pretty  head  till  the  ear-drops  twinkled  again. 
"  I  shan  't  dance  with  you  for  a  whole  evening,  if 
you  go  to  asking  me  any  more  questions." 

"  O,  you  could  n't  be  so  cruel,  now  !  I  was  just 
dying  to  know  whether  you  would  appear  in  your 
pink  tarletane,"  said  Adolph. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Rosa,  a  bright,  piquant  little 
quadroon,  who  came  skipping  down  stairs  at  this 
moment. 

"Why,  Mr.  St.  Clare  's  so  impudent !  " 

"  On  my  honor,"  said  Adolph,  "  I  '11  leave  it  to 
Miss  Rosa,  now. " 

"  I  know  he  's  always  a  saucy  creature,"  said  Rosa, 
poising  herself  on  one  of  her  little  feet,  and  looking 
maliciously  at  Adolph.  "  He  's  always  getting  me 
so  angry  with  him." 

"  O  !  ladies,  ladies,  you  will  certainly  break  my 
heart,  between  you,"  said  Adolph.  "  I  shall  be 
found  dead  in  my  bed,  some  morning,  and  you  '11 
have  it  to  answer  for." 

"  Do  hear  the  horrid  creature  talk  ! "  said  both 
ladies,  laughing  immoderately. 

"  Come, — clar  out,  you  !  I  can't  have  you  clut- 
tering up  the  kitchen,"  said  Dinah;  "  in  my  way, 
foolin'  round  here." 


308  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  Aunt  Dinah  's  glum,  because  she  can't  go  to  the 
"ball,"  said  Rosa. 

"  Don't  want  none  o'  your  light-colored  balls," 
said  Dinah  ;  "  cuttin'  round,  makin'  b  'lieve  you  's 
white  folks.  Arter  all,  you 's  niggers,  much  as  I 
am." 

"  Aunt  Dinah  greases  her  wool  stiff,  every  day,  to 
make  it  lie  straight,"  said  Jane. 

"  And  it  will  be  wool,  after  all,"  said  Rosa,  mali- 
ciously shaking  down  her  long,  silky  curls. 

"  Well,  in  the  Lord's  sight,  an't  wool  as  good  as 
liar,  any  time  ? "  said  Dinah.  "  I  'd  like  to  have 
Missis  say  which  is  worth  the  most, — a  couple  such 
as  you,  or  one  like  me:  Get  out  wid  ye,  ye  trum- 
pery,— I  won  't  have  ye  round  !  " 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  in  a  two- 
fold manner.  St.  Clare's  voice  was  heard  at  the 
liead  of  the  stairs,  asking  Adolph  if  he  meant  to 
stay  all  night  with  his  shaving-water ;  and  Miss 
Ophelia,  coming  out  of  the  dining-room,  said, 

"  Jane  and  Rosa,  what  are  you  wasting  your  time 
for,  here  ?     Go  in  and  attend  to  your  muslins." 

Our  friend  Tom,  who  had  been  in  the  kitchen 
during  the  conversation  with  the  old  rusk-woman, 
had  followed  her  out  into  the  street.  He  saw  her 
go  on,  giving  every  once  in  a  while  a  suppressed 
groan.  At  last  she  set  her  basket  down  on  a  door- 
step, and  began  arranging  the  old,  faded  shawl 
which  covered  her  shoulders. 

"  I  '11  carry  your  basket  a  piece,"  said  Tom,  com- 
passionately. 

"  Why  should  ye  ?  "  said  the  woman.  "  I  don't 
want  no  help." 

"  You  seem  to  be  sick,  or  in  trouble,  or  some- 
thin',"  said  Tom. 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  309 

"  I  an  't  sick,"  said  the  woman,  shortly. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Tom,  looking  at  her  earnestly, — 
"  I  wish  I  could  persuade  you  to  leave  off  drinking. 
Don't  you  know  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  ye,  body  and 
soul ?  " 

"  I  knows  I  'm  gwine  to  torment,"  said  the  wo- 
man, sullenly,  f  Ye  don  't  need  to  tell  me  that  ar. 
I 's  ugly, — I 's  wicked, — I 's  gwine  straight  to  tor- 
ment.    O,  Lord  1     I  wish  I 's  thar  !  " 

Tom  shuddered  at  these  frightful  words,  spoken 
with  a  sullen,  impassioned  earnestness. 

"  O,  Lord  have  mercy  on  ye  !  poor  crittur.  Han't 
ye  never  heard  of  Jesus  Christ  ?  " 

"  Jesus  Christ, — who  's  he  ?  "      - 

y  Why,  he  's  the  Lord"  said  Tom. 

"  I  think  I  've  hearn  tell  o'  the  Lord,  and  the 
judgment  and  torment.     I  've  heard  o'  that." 

"  But  did  n't  anybody  ever  tell  you  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  that  loved  us  poor  sinners,  and  died  for  us  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  that,"  said  the  woman ; 
"  nobody  han't  never  loved  me,  since  my  old  man 
died." 

"  Where  was  you  raised  ?  "  said  Tom. 

*•  Up  in  Kentuck.  A  man  kept  me  to  breed 
chiPen  for  market,  and  sold  'em  as  fast  as  they  got 
big  enough  ;  last  of  all,  he  sold  me  to  a  speculator, 
and  my  Mas'r  got  me  o'  him." 

"  What  set  you  into  this  bad  way  of  drinkin'  ?  " 

"  To  get  shet  o'  my  misery.  I  had  one  child 
after  I  come  here  ;  and  I  thought  then  I  'd  have  one 
to  raise,  cause  Mas'r  was  n't  a  speculator.  It  was 
de  peartest  little  thing !  and  Missis  she  seemed  to 
_think  a  heap  on  't,  at  first ;  it  never  cried, — it  was 
likely  and  fat.  But  Missis  tuck  sick,  and  I  tended 
her ;  and  I  tuck  the  fever,  and  my  milk  all  left  me, 


310  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

and  the  child  it  pined  to  skin  and  bone,  and  Missis 
would  n't  buy  milk  for  it.  She  would  n't  hear  to 
me,  when  I  telled  her  I  had  n't  milk.  She  said  she 
knowed  I  could  feed  it  on  what  other  folks  eat ;  and 
the  child  kinder  pined,  and  cried,  and  cried,  and 
cried,  day  and  night,  and  got  all  gone  to  skin  and 
bones,  and  Missis  got  sot  agin  it,  and  she  said 
'twan't  nothin' but  crossness.  She  wished  it  was 
dead,  she  said ;  and  she  would  n't  let  me  have  it  o* 
nights,  cause,  she  said,  it  kept  me  awake,  and  made 
me  good  for  nothing.  She  made  me  sleep  in  her 
room,  and  I  had  to  put  it  away  off  in  a  little  kind  o' 
garret,  and  thar  it  cried  itself  to  death,  one  night. 
It  did  ;  and  I  tuck  to  drinkin',  to  keep  its  crying 
out  of  my  ears  !  I  did, — and  I  will  drink  !  I  will, 
if  I  do  go  to  torment  for  it !  Mas'r  says  I  shall  go 
to  torment,  and  I  tell  him  I  've  got  thar  now  !  " 

"  O,  ye  poor  crittur  !  "  said  Tom,  "  han't  nobody 
never  telled  ye  how  the  Lord  Jesus  loved  ye,  and 
died  for  ye  ?  Han't  they  telled  ye  that  he  '11  help 
ye,  and  ye  can  go  to  heaven,  and  have  rest,  at 
last  ? " 

"  I  looks  like  gwine  to  heaven,"  said  the  woman ; 
•  an't  thar  where  white  folks  is  gwine  ?  S'pose 
they  'd  have  me  thar  ?  I  'd  rather  go  to  torment, 
and  get  away  from  Mas'r  and  Missis.  I  had  so," 
she  said,  as,  with  her  usual  groan,  she  got  her  basket 
on  her  head,  and  walked  sullenly  away. 

Tom  turned,  and  walked  sorrowfully  back  to  the 
house.  In  the  court  he  met  little  Eva, — a  crown  of 
tuberoses  on  her  head,  and  her  eyes  radiant  with 
delight. 

"  O,  Tom  !  here  you  are.  I  'm  glad  I  've  found 
you.  Papa  says  you  may  get  out  the  ponies,  and 
take  me  in  my  little  new  carriage,"  she  said,  catch- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  311 

ing  his  hand.  "  But  what 's  the  matter,  Tom  ? — you 
look  sober." 

"  I  feel  bad,  Miss  Eva,"  said  Tom,  sorrowfully. 
"  But  I  '11  get  the  horses  for  you." 

"  But  do  tell  me,  Tom,  what  is  the  matter.  I 
saw  you  talking  to  cross  old  Prue." 

Tom,  in  simple,  earnest  phrase,  told  Eva  the 
woman's  history.  She  did  not  exclaim,  or  wonder, 
or  weep,  as  other  children  do.  Her  cheeks  grew 
pale,  and  a  deep,  earnest  shadow  passed  over  her 
eyes.  She  laid  both  hands  on  her  bosom,  and  sighed 
heavily. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

miss  Ophelia's    experiences   and   opinions,  con- 
tinued. 

"  Tom,  you  need  n't  get  me  the  horses.  I  don't 
want  to  go,"  she  said. 

"  Why  not,  Miss  Eva  ?  " 

"These  things  sink  into  my  heart,  Tom,"  said 
Eva, — "  they  sink  into  my  heart,"  she  repeated, 
earnestly.  "  I  don't  want  to  go  ;  "  and  she  turned 
from  Tom,  and  went  into  the  house. 

A  few  days  after,  another  woman  came,  in  old 
Prue's  place,  to  bring  the  rusks  ;  Miss  Ophelia  was 
in  the  kitchen. 

"  Lor  !  "  said  Dinah,  "  what  's  got  Prue  ?  " 

"  Prue  is  n't  coming  any  more,"  said  the  woman, 
mysteriously. 

"  Why  not  ? "  said  Dinah.  "  She  an't  dead,  is 
she  ? " 

"We  does  n't  exactly  know.  She  's  down  cellar," 
said  the  woman,  glancing  at  Miss  Ophelia. 

After  Miss  Ophelia  had  taken  the  rusks,  Dinah 
followed  the  woman  to  the  door. 


312  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  t    OK, 

"  What  has  got  Prue,  anyhow  ? "  she  said. 

The  woman  seemed  desirous,  yet  reluctant,  to 
speak,  and  answered,  in  a  low,  mysterious  tone. 

"  Well,  you  must  n't  tell  nobody.  Prue,  she  got 
drunk  agin, — and  they  had  her  down  cellar, — and 
thar  they  left  her  all  day, — and  I  hearn  'em  saying 
that  the.  flies  had  got  to  her, — and  she  's  dead/" 

Dinah  held  up  her  hands,  and,  turning,  saw  close 
by  her  side  the  spirit-like  form  of  Evangeline,  her 
large,  mystic  eyes  dilated  with  horror,  and  every 
drop  of  blood  driven  from  her  lips  and  cheeks. 

"  Lor  bless  us  !  Miss  Eva's  gwine  to  faint  away  I 
What  got  us  all,  to  let  her  har  such  talk  ?  Her  pa  '11 
be  rail  mad." 

"  I  shan't  faint,  Dinah,"  said  the  child,  firmly ; 
"  and  why  should  n't  I  hear  it  ?  It  an't  so  much  for 
me  to  hear  it,  as  for  poor  Prue  to  suffer  it." 

"  Lor  sakes  I  it  is  n't  for  sweet,  delicate  young 
ladies,  like  you, — these  yer  stories  is  n't ,-  it 's  enough 
to  kill 'em!" 

Eva  sighed  again,  and  walked  upstairs  with  a 
slow  and  melancholy  step. 

Miss  Ophelia  anxiously  inquired  the  woman's 
story.  Dinah  gave  a  very  garrulous  version  of  it, 
to  which  Tom  added  the  particulars  which  he  had 
drawn  from  her  that  morning. 

"  An  abominable  business, — perfectly  horrible  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  entered  the  room  where  St. 
Clare  lay  reading  his  paper. 

"  Pray,  what  iniquity  has  turned  up  now  ?  "  said 
he. 

"  What  now  ?  why,  those  folks  have  whipped  Prue 
to  death !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  going  on,  with  great 
strength  of  detail,  into  the  story,  and  enlarging  on 
its  most  shocking  particulars. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  313 


5 


"  I  thought  it  would  come  to  that,  some  time 
said  St.  Clare,  going  on  with  his  paper. 

"  Thought  so  !  — an't  you  going  to  do  anything; 
about  it  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  Have  n't  you  got 
any  selectmen,  or  anybody,  to  interfere  and  look  after 
such  matters  ? " 

"  It  's  commonly  supposed  that  the  property  inter- 
est is  a  sufficient  guard  in  these  cases.  If  people 
choose  to  ruin  their  own  possessions,  I  don't  know 
what  's  to  be  done.  It  seems  the  poor  creature  was 
a  thief  and  a  drunkard ;  and  so  there  won't  be  much 
hope  to  get  up  sympathy  for  her." 

"  It  is  perfectly  outrageous, — it  is  horrid,  Augus- 
tine !  It  will  certainly  bring  down  vengeance  upon 
you." 

u  My  dear  cousin,  I  did  n't  do  it,  and  I  can't 
help  it ;  I  would,  if  I  could.  If  low-minded,  brutal 
people  will  act  like  themselves,  what  am  I  to  do  ?* 
They  have  absolute  control;  they  are  irresponsible 
despots.  There  would  be  no  use  in  interfering ;, 
there  is  no  law  that  amounts  to  anything  practically^ 
for  such  a  case.  The  best  we  can  do  is  to  shut  our 
eyes  and  ears,  and  let  it  alone.  It  's  the  only  re- 
source left  us." 

"  How  can  you  shut  your  eyes  and  ears  ?  How 
can  you  let  such  things  alone  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  what  do  you  expect  ?  Here  is  a 
whole  class, — debased,  uneducated,  indolent,  pro- 
voking,— put,  without  any  sort  of  terms  or  conditions, 
entirely  into  the  hands  of  such  people  as  the  major- 
ity in  our  world  are  ;  people  who  have  neither  con- 
sideration nor  self-control,  who  have  n't  even  an  en- 
lightened regard  to  their  own  interest, — for  that 's  the 
case  with  the  largest  half  of  mankind.  Of  course^ 
in  a  community  so  organized,  what  can  a  man  of  hon- 


314  UNCLE   TOMS   CABIN  :   OR, 

orable  and  humane  feelings  do,  but  shut  his  eyes  all  he 
can,  and  harden  his  heart  ?  I  can't  buy  every  poor 
wretch  I  see.  I  can't  turn  knight-errant,  and  under- 
take to  redress  every  individual  case  of  wrong  in 
such  a  city  as  this.  The  most  I  can  do  is  to  try  and 
keep  out  of  the  way  of  it." 

St.  Clare's  fine  countenance  was  for  a  moment 
overcast ;  he  looked  annoyed,  but  suddenly  calling 
up  a  gay  smile,  he  said, 

"  Come,  cousin,  don't  stand  there  looking 
like  one  of  the  Fates  ;  you  've  only  seen  a  peep 
through  the  curtain, — a  specimen  of  what  is  going 
on,  the  world  over,  in  some  shape  or  other.  If  we 
are  to  be  prying  and  spying  into  all  the  dismals 
of  life,  we  should  have  no  heart  to  anything.  'T  is 
like  looking  too  close  into  the  details  of  Dinah's 
kitchen ;  "  and  St.  Clare  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  and 
busied  himself  with  his  paper. 

Miss  Ophelia  sat  down,  and  pulled  out  her  knit- 
ting-work, and  sat  there  grim  with  indignation.  She 
knit  and  knit,  but  while  she  mused  the  fire  burned  ; 
at  last  she  broke  out — 

"  I  tell  you,  Augustine,  I  can't  get  over  things  so, 
if  you  can.  It  's  a  perfect  abomination  for  you  to 
defend  such  a  system, — that  's  my  mind  ! " 

"  What  now  ? "  said  St.  Clare,  looking  up.  "  At 
it  again,  hey  ?  " 

"  I  say  it 's  perfectly  abominable  for  you  to  defend 
such  a  system  !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  with  increas- 
ing warmth. 

"  /  defend  it,  my  dear  lady  ?  Who  ever  said  I 
did  defend  it  ? "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Of  course,  you  defend  it, — you  all  do, — all  you 
Southerners.  What  do  you  have  slaves  for,  if  you 
don't?*' 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  315 

"  Are  you  such  a  sweet  innocent  as  to  suppose 
nobody  in  this  world  ever  does  what  they  don't  think 
is  right  ?  Don  't  you,  or  did  n't  you  ever,  do  any- 
thing that  you  did  not  think  quite  right  ?  " 

"  If  I  do,  I  repent  of  it,  I  hope,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  rattling  her  needles  with  energy. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  St.  Clare,  peeling  his  orange ; 
"  I  'm  repenting  of  it  all  the  time." 

"  What  do  you  keep  on  doing  it  for  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  ever  keep  on  doing  wrong,  after 
you  'd  repented,  my  good  cousin  ? " 

"  Well,  only  when  I  've  been  very  much  tempted," 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Well,  I  'm  very  much  tempted,"  said  St.  Clare  ; 
"  that  's  just  my  difficulty." 

"But  I  always  resolve  I  won't,  and  I  try  to  break 
off." 

"  Well,  I  have  been  resolving  I  won't,  off  and  on, 
these. ten  years,"  said  St.  Clare;  "but  I  have  n't, 
somehow,  got  clear.  Have  you  got  clear  of  all 
your  sins,  cousin  ?  " 

"  Cousin  Augustine,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  seriously, 
and  laying  down  her  knitting-work,  "  I  suppose  I 
deserve  that  you  should  reprove  my  short-comings. 
I  know  all  you  say  is  true  enough  ;  nobody  else 
feels  them  more  than  I  do  ;  but  it  does  seem  to  me, 
after  all,  there  is  some  difference  between  me  and 
you.  It  seems  to  me  I  would  cut  off  my  right  hand 
sooner  than  keep  on,  from  day  to  day,  doing  what 
I  thought  was  wrong.  But,  then,  my  conduct  is  so 
inconsistent  with  my  profession,  I  don't  wonder  you 
reprove  me." 

"  O,  now,  cousin,"  said  Augustine,  sitting  down 
on  the  floor,  and  laying  his  head  back  in  her  lap, 
"  don't  take  on  so  awfully  serious !  You  know 
22 


316  UNCLE  tom's  cabin:  or, 

what  a  good-for-nothing,  saucy  boy  I  always  was. 
I  love  to  poke  you  up, — that 's  all, — just  to  see  you 
get  earnest.  I  do  think  you  are  desperately,  dis- 
tressingly good ;  it  tires  me  to  death  to  think  of  it." 

"  But  this  is  a  serious  subject,  my  boy,  Auguste," 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  laying  her  hand  on  his  forehead. 

"  Dismally    so,"    said    he  ;  "  and    I well,    I 

never  want  to  talk  seriously  in  hot  weather.  What 
with  mosquitos  and  all,  a  fellow  can't  get  himself 
up  to  any  very  sublime  moral  flights  ;  and  I  believe," 
said  St.  Clare,  suddenly  rousing  himself  up,  "  there  *s 
a  theory  now !  I  understand  now  why  northern 
nations  are  always  more  virtuous  than  southern 
ones, — I  see  into  that  whole  subject." 

"  O,  Auguste,  you  are  a  sad  rattle-brain  !  " 

"  Am  I  ?  Well,  so  I  am,  I  suppose  ;  but  for  once 
I  will  be  serious,  now  ;  but  you  must  hand  me  that 
basket  of  oranges  ; — you  see,  you  '11  have  to  '  stay 
me  with  flagons  and  comfort  me  with  apples,'  if  I  'm 
going  to  make  this  effort.  Now,"  said  Augustine, 
drawing  the  basket  up,  "  I  '11  begin  :  When,  in  the 
course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  necessary  for 
I  a  fellow  to  hold  two  or  three  dozen  of  his  fellow- 
•  worms  in  captivity,  a  decent  regard  to  the  opinions 
of  society  requires — " 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  are  growing  more  serious," 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Wait, — I  'm  coming  on, — you  '11  hear.  The 
short  of  the  matter  is,  cousin,"  said  he,  his  hand- 
some face  suddenly  settling  into  an  earnest  and 
serious  expression,  "on  this  abstract  question  of 
slavery  there  can,  as  I  think,  be  but  one  opinion. 
Planters,  who  have  money  to  make  by  it, — clergy- 
men, who  have  planters  to  please, — politicians,  who 
want  to  rule  by  it, — may  warp  and  bend  language 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  317 

and  ethics  to  a  degree  that  shall  astonish  the  world 
at  their  ingenuity  ;  they  can  press  nature  and  the 
Bible,  and  nobody  knows  what  else,  into  the  service  ; 
but,  after  all,  neither  they  nor  the  world  believe  in 
it  one  particle  the  more.  It  comes  from  the  devil, 
that  's  the  short  of  it ; — and,  to  my  mind,  it  's  a 
pretty  respectable  specimen  of  what  he  can  do  in 
his  own  line." 

Miss  Ophelia  stopped  her  knitting,  and  looked 
surprised  ;  and  St.  Clare,  apparently  enjoying  her 
astonishment,  went  on. 

"  You  seem  to  wonder ;  but  if  you  will  get  me 
fairly  at  it,  I  '11  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  This 
cursed  business,  accursed  of  God  and  man,  what  is 
it  ?  Strip  it  of  all  its  ornament,  run  it  down  to  the 
root  and  nucleus  of  the  whole,  and  what  is  it  ?  Why, 
because  my  brother  Quashy  is  ignorant  and  weak, 
and  I  am  intelligent  and  strong, — because  I  know 
how,  and  can  do  it, — therefore,  I  may  steal  all  he 
has,  keep  it,  and  give  him  only  such  and  so  much  as 
suits  my  fancy.  Whatever  is  too  hard,  too  dirty,  too 
disagreeable,  for  me,  I  may  set  Quashy  to  doing. 
Because  I  don't  like  work,  Quashy  shall  work. 
Because  the  sun  burns  me,  Quashy  shall  stay  in  the 
sun.  Quashy  shall  earn  the  money,  and  I  will  spend 
it.  Quashy  shall  lie  down  in  every  puddle,  that  I 
may  walk  over  dry-shod.  Quashy  shall  do  my  will, 
and  not  his,  all  the  days  of  his  mortal  life,  and  have 
such  chance  of  getting  to  heaven,  at  last,  as  I  find 
convenient.  This  I  take  to  be  about  what  slavery 
is.  I  defy  anybody  on  earth  to  read  our  slave-code, 
as  it  stands  in  our  law-books,  and  make  anything 
else  of  it.  Talk  of  the  abuses  of  slavery  !  Humbug  ! 
The  thing  itself 'is  the  essence  of  all  abuse!  And 
the  only  reason  why  the  land   don't  sink  under  it, 


318  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

like  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  is  because  it  is  used in 
a  way  infinitely  better  than  it  is.  For  pity's  sake, 
for  shame's  sake,  because  we  are  men  born  of 
women,  and  not  savage  beasts,  many  of  us  do  not, 
and  dare  not, — we  would  scorn  to  use  the  full  power 
which  our  savage  laws  put  into  our  hands.  And  he 
who  goes  the  furthest,  and  does  the  worst,  only  uses 
within  limits  the  power  that  the  law  gives  him." 

St.  Clare  had  started  up,  and,  as  his  manner  was 
when  excited,  was  walking,  with  hurried  steps,  up 
and  down  the  floor.  His  fine  face,  classic  as  that 
of  a  Greek  statue,  seemed  actually  to  burn  with  the 
fervor  of  his  feelings,  His  large  blue  eyes  flashed, 
and  he  gestured  with  an  unconscious  eagerness. 
Miss  Ophelia  had  never  seen  him  in  this  mood 
before,  and  she  sat  perfectly  silent. 

"I  declare  to  you,"  said  he,  suddenly  stopping 
before  his  cousin  "  (it  's  no  sort  of  use  to  talk  or  to 
feel  on  this  subject),  but  I  declare  to  you,  there 
have  been  times  when  I  have  thought,  if  the  whole 
country  would  sink,  and  hide  all  this  injustice  and 
misery  from  the  light,  I  would  willingly  sink  with  it. 
When  I  have  been  travelling  up  and  down  on  our 
boats,  or  about  on  my  collecting  tours,  and  reflected 
that  every  brutal,  disgusting,  mean,  low-lived  fellow 
I  met,  was  allowed  by  our  laws  to  become  absolute 
despot  of  as  many  men,  women  and  children,  as  he 
could  cheat,  steal,  or  gamble  money  enough  to  buy, 
— when  I  have  seen  such  men  in  actual  ownership 
of  helpless  children,  of  young  girls  and  women, — I 
have  been  ready  to  curse  my  country,  to  curse  the 
human  race  !  " 

"Augustine  !  Augustine  !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia, 
"  I  'm  sure  you  Ve  said  enough.  'I  never,  in  my  life, 
heard  anything  like  this,  even  at  the  North." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  319 

"  At  the  North  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  expression,  and  resuming  something  of 
his  habitual  careless  tone.  "  Pooh  !  your  northern 
folks  are  cold-blooded  ;  you  are  cool  in  everything  ! 
You  can't  begin  to  curse  up  hill  and  down  as  we 
can,  when  we  get  fairly  at  it." 

"  Well,  but  the  question  is,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  O,  yes,  to  be  sure,  the  question  is, — and  a  deuce 
of  a  question  it  is  !  How  came  jv//  in  this  state  of 
sin  and  misery  ?  Well,  I  shall  answer  in  the  good 
old  words  you  used  to  teach  me,  Sundays.  I  came 
so  by  ordinary  generation.  My  servants  were  my 
father's,  .and,  what  is  more,  my  mother's  ;  and  now 
they  are  mine,  they  and  their  increase,  which  bids 
fair  to  be  a  pretty  considerable  item.  My  father, 
you  know,  came  first  from  New  England  ;  and  he 
was  just  such  another  man  as  your  father, — a  regu- 
lar old  Roman, — upright,  energetic,  noble-minded, 
with  an  iron  will.  Your  father  settled  down  in  New 
England,  to  rule  over  rocks  and  stones,  and  to  force 
an  existence  out  of  Nature  ;  and  mine  settled  in 
Louisiana,  to  rule  over  men  and  women,  and  force 
existence  out  of  them.  My  mother,"  said  St.  Clare, 
getting  up  and  walking  to  a  picture  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  and  gazing  upward  with  a  face  fervent 
with  veneration,  "  she  was  divine!  Don't  look  at 
me  so  ! — you  know  what  I  mean  !  She  probablv  was 
of  mortal  birth  ;  but,  as  far  as  ever  I  could  observe, 
there  was  no  trace  of  any  human  weakness  or  error 
about  her  :  and  everybody  that  lives  to  remember 
her,  whether  bond  or  free,  servant,  acquaintance, 
relation,  all  say  the  same.  Why,  cousin,  that  mother 
has  been  all  that  has  stood  between  me  and  utter 
unbelief  for  years.  She  was  a  direct  embodiment 
and  personification  of  the  New  Testament,— a  living: 


320  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

fact,  to  be  accounted  for,  and  to  be  accounted  for 
in  no  other  way  than  by  its  truth.  O,  mother, 
mother !  "  said  St.  Clare,  clasping  his  hands,  in  a 
sort  of  transport ;  and  then  suddenly  checking  him- 
self, he  came  back,  and  seating  himself  on  an  otto- 
man, he  went  on  : 

"  My  brother  and  I  were  twins  ;'  and  they  say, 
you  know,  that  twins  ought  to  resemble  each  other ; 
but  we  were  in  all  points  a  contrast.  He  had  black 
fiery  eyes,  coal-black  hair,  a  strong  fine  Roman 
profile,  and  a  rich  brown  complexion.  I  had  blue 
eyes,  golden  hair,  a  Greek  outline,  and  a  fair  com- 
plexion. He  was  active  and  observing,  I  dreamy 
and  inactive.  He  was  generous  to  his  friends  and 
equals,  but  proud,  dominant,  overbearing,  to  inferiors, 
and  utterly  unmerciful  to  whatever  set  itself  up 
against  him.  Truthful  we  both  were ;  he  from 
pride  and  courage,  I  from  a  sort  of  abstract  ideality. 
We  loved  each  other  about  as  boys  generally  do, — ■ 
off  and  on,  and  in  general ; — he  was  my  father's  pet, 
and  I  my  mother's. 

"  There  was  a  morbid  sensitiveness  and  acuteness 
of  feeling  in  me  on  all  possible  subjects,  of  which  he 
and  my  father  had  no  kind  of  understanding,  and 
with  which  they  could  have  no  possible  sympathy. 
But  mother  did  ;  and  so,  when  I  had  quarrelled  with 
Alfred,  and  father  looked  sternly  on  me,  I  used  to 
go  off  to  mother's  room,  and  sit  by  her.  I  remember 
just  how  she  used  to  look,  with  her  pale  cheeks, 
her  deep,  soft,  serious  eyes,  her  white  dress, — she 
always  wore  white ;  and  I  used  to  think  of  her 
whenever  I  read  in  Revelations  about  the  saints  that 
were  arrayed  in  fine  linen,  clean  and  white.  She 
had  a  great  deal  of  genius  of  one  sort  and  another, 
particularly  in  music  ;  and  she  used  to  sit  at  her 
organ,  playing  fine  old  majestic  music  of  the  Catholic 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  32 1 

church,  and  singing  with  a  voice  more  like  an  angel 
than  a  mortal  woman  ;  and  I  would  lay  my  head 
down  on  her  lap,  and  cry,  and  dream,  and  feel, — oh, 
immeasurably ! — things  that  I  had  no  language  to 
say! 

"  In  those  days,  this  matter  of  slavery  had  never 
been  canvassed  as  it  has  now ;  nobody  dreamed  of 
any  harm  in  it. 

"  My  father  was  a  born  aristocrat.  I  think,  in 
some  preexistent  state,  he  must  have  been  in  the 
higher  circles  of  spirits,  and  brought  all  his  old 
court  pride  along  with  him  ;  for  it  was  ingrain,  bred 
in  the  bone,  though  he  was  originally  of  poor  and 
not  in  any  way  of  noble  family.  My  brother  was  be- 
gotten in  his  image. 

"  Now,  an  aristocrat,  you  know,  the  world  over, 
has  no  human  sympathies,  beyond  a  certain  line  in 
society.  In  England  the  line  is  in  one  place,  in 
Eurmah  in  another,  and  in  America  in  another  ;  but 
the  aristocrat  of  all  these  countries  never  goes  over 
it.  What  would  be  hardship  and  distress  and 
injustice  in  his  own  class,  is  a  cool  matter  of  course 
in  another  one.  My  father's  dividing  line  was  that 
of  color.  A  mo  fig  his  equals,  never  was  a  man  more 
just  and  generous  ;  but  he  considered  the  negro, 
through  all  possible  gradations  of  color,  as  an  inter- 
mediate link  between  man  and  animals,  and  graded 
all  his  ideas  of  justice  or  generosity  on  this  hypoth- 
esis. I  suppose,  to  be  sure,  if  anybody  had  asked 
him,  plump  and  fair,  whether  they  bad  human  im- 
mortal souls,  he  might  have  hemmed  and  hawed, 
and  said  yes.  But  my  father  was  not  a  man  much 
troubled  with  spiritualism ;  religious  sentiment  he 
had  none,  beyond  a  veneration  for  God,  as  decid- 
edly the  head  of  the  upper  classes. 


32  2  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"Well,  my  father  worked  some  five  hundred 
negroes  ;  he  was  an  inflexible,  driving,  punctilious 
business  man ;  everything  was  to  move  by  system, 
— to  be  sustained  with  unfailing  accuracy  and  pre- 
cision. Now,  if  you  take  into  account  that  all  this 
was  to  be  worked  out  by  a  set  of  lazy,  twaddling, 
shiftless  laborers,  who  had  grown  up,  all  their  lives, 
in  the  absence  of  every  possible  motive  to  learn 
how  to  do  anything  but  '  shirk,'  as  you  Vermonters 
say,  and  you  '11  see  that  there  might  naturally  be,  on 
his  plantation,  a  great  many  things  that  looked 
horrible  and  distressing  to  a  sensitive  child  like 
me. 

"  Besides  all,  he  had  an  overseer, — a  great,  tall, 
slab-sided,  two-fisted  renegade  son  of  Vermont — 
(begging  your  pardon), — who  had  gone  through  a 
regular  apprenticeship  in  hardness  and  brutality, 
and  taken  his  degree  to  be  admitted  to  practice. 
My  mother  never  could  endure  him,  nor  I ;  but  he 
obtained  an  entire  ascendency  over  my  father  ;  and 
this  man  was  the  absolute  despot  of  the  estate. 

"  I  was  a  little  fellow  then,  but  I  had  the  same 
love  that  I  have  now  for  all  kinds  of  human  things, 
— a  kind  of  passion  for  the  study  of  humanity,  come 
in  what  shape  it  would.  I  was  found  in  the  cabins 
and  among  the  field-hands  a  great  deal,  and,  of 
course,  was  a  great  favorite ;  and  all  sorts  of  com- 
plaints and  grievances  were  breathed  in  my  ear  ;  and 
I  told  them  to  mother,  and  we,  between  us,  formed 
a  sort  of  committee  for  a  redress  of  grievances. 
We  hindered  and  repressed  a  great  deal  of  cruelty, 
and  congratulated  ourselves  in  doing  a  vast  deal  of 
good,  till,  as  often  happens,  my  zeal  overacted. 
Stubbs  complained  to  my  father  that  he  could  n't 
manage  the  hands,   and  must  resign  his  position. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  323 

Father  was  a  fond,  indulgent  husband,  but  a  man 
that  never  flinched  from  anything  that  he  thought 
necessary  ;  and  so  he  put  down  his  foot,  like  a  rock, 
between  us  and  the  field-hands.  He  told  my 
mother,  in  language  perfectly  respectful  and 
deferential,  but  quite  explicit,  that  over  the  house- 
servants  she  should  be  entire  mistress,  but  that  with 
the  field-han**s  he  could  allow  no  interference.  He 
revered  and  respected  her  above  all  living  beings  ; 
but  he  would  have  said  it  all  the  same  to  the  virgin 
Mary  herself,  if  she  had  come  in  the  way  of  his  system. 

"  I  used  sometimes  to  hear  my  mother  reasoning 
cases  with  him, — endeavoring  to  excite  his  sym- 
pathies. He  would  listen  to  the  most  pathetic 
appeals  with  the  most  discouraging  politeness  and 
equanimity.  '  It  all  resolves  itself  into  this/  he 
would  say ;  '  must  I  part  with  Stubbs,  or  keep  him  ? 
Stubbs  is  the  soul  of  punctuality,  honesty,  and 
efficiency, — a  thorough  business  hand,  and  as 
humane  as  the  general  run.  We  can't  have  perfec- 
tion ;  and  if  I  keep  him,  I  must  sustain  his  ad- 
ministration as  a  whole,  even  if  there  are,  now  and 
then,  things  that  are  exceptionable.  All  govern- 
ment includes  some  necessary  hardness.  General 
rules  will  bear  hard  on  particular  cases.'  This  last 
maxim  my  father  seemed  to  consider  a  settler  in 
most  alleged  cases  of  cruelty.  After  he  had  said  thatr 
he  commonly  drew  up  his  feet  on  the  sofa,  like  a 
man  that  has  disposed  of  a  business,  and  betook 
himself  to  a  nap,  or  the  newspaper,  as  the  case  might 
be. 

"  The  fact  is,  my  father  showed  the  exact  sort  of 
talent  for  a  statesman.  He  could  have  divided 
Poland  as  easily  as  an  orange,  or  trod  on  Ireland  as 
quietly  and  systematically  as  any  man  living.     At 


324  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

last  my  mother  gave  up,  in  despair.  It  never  will 
be  known,  till  the  last  account,  what  noble  and 
sensitive  natures  like  hers  have  felt,  cast,  utterly- 
helpless,  into  what  seems  to  them  an  abyss  of  in- 
justice and  cruelty,  and  which  seems  so  to  nobody 
about  them.  It  has  been  an  age  of  long  sorrow  of 
such  natures,  in  such  a  hell-begotten  sort  of  world 
as  ours.  What  remained  for  her,  but  to  train  her 
children  in  her  own  views  and  sentiments  ?  Well, 
after  all  you  say  about  training,  children  will  grow 
up  substantially  what  they  are  by  nature,  and  only 
that.  From  the  cradle,  Alfred  was  an  aristocrat  ; 
and  as  he  grew  up,  instinctively,  all  his  sympathies 
and  all  his  reasonings  were  in  that  line,  and  all 
mother's  exhortations  went  to  the  winds.  As  to  me, 
they  sunk  deep  into  me.  She  never  contradicted, 
in  form,  anything  that  my  father  said,  or  seemed 
directly  to  differ  from  him  ;  but  she  impressed, 
burnt  into  my  very  soul,  with  all  the  force  of  her 
-deep,  earnest  nature,  an  idea  of  the  dignity  and 
worth  of  the  meanest  human  soul.  I  have  looked  in 
her  face  with  solemn  awe,  when  she  would  point  up 
to  the  stars  in  the  evening,  and  say  to  me,  '  See 
there,  Auguste  !  the  poorest,  meanest  soul  on  our 
place  will  be  living,  when  all  these  stars  are  gone 
forever, — will  live  as  long  as  God  lives  ! ' 

**>  She  had  some  fine  old  paintings  ;  one,  in  par- 
ticular, of  Jesus  healing  a  blind  man.  They  were 
very  fine,  and  used  to  impress  me  strongly.  *  See 
there,  Auguste,'  she  would  say  ;  '  the  blind  man  was 
a  beggar,  poor  and  loathsome ;  therefore,  he  would 
not  heal  him  afar  off!  He  called  him  to  him,  and 
put  his  ha?ids on  him  !  Remember  this,  my  boy.'  If 
I  had  lived  to  grow  up  under  her  care,  she  might 
have  stimulated  me  to  I   know  not  what  of  enthu- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  325 

siasm.  I  might  have  been  a  saint,  reformer,  martyr, 
— but,  alas  !  alas !  I  went  from  her  when  I  was 
•only  thirteen,  and  I  never  saw  her  again  !  " 

St.  Clare  rested  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  did 
not  speak  for  some  minutes.  After  a  while,  he 
looked  up,  and  went  on  : 

"  What  poor,  mean  trash  this  whole  business  of 
human  virtue  is  !  A  mere  matter,  for  the  most  part, 
of  latitude  and  longitude,  and  geographical  position, 
acting  with  natural  temperament.  The  greater  part 
is  nothing  but  an  accident !  Your  father,  for 
example,  settles  in  Vermont,  in  a  town  where  all  are, 
in  fact,  free  and  equal ;  becomes  a  regular  church 
member  and  deacon,  and  in  due  time  joins  an 
Abolition  society,  and  thinks  us  all  little  better  than 
heathens.  Yet  he  is,  for  all  the  world,  in  constitu- 
tion and  habit,  a  duplicate  of  my  father.  I  can  see 
it  leaking  out  in  fifty  different  ways, — just  that  same 
strong,  overbearing,  dominant  spirit.  You  know 
very  well  how  impossible  it  is  to  persuade  some  of 
the  folks  in  your  village  that  Squire  Sinclair  does 
not  feel  above  them.  The  fact  is,  though  he  has 
fallen  on  democratic  times,  and  embraced  a 
democratic  theory,  he  is  to  the  heart  an  aristocrat, 
as  much  as  my  father,  who  ruled  over  five  or  six 
hundred  slaves." 

Miss  Ophelia  felt  rather  disposed  to  cavil  at  this 
picture,  and  was  laying  down  her  knitting  to  begin, 
but  St.  Clare  stopped  her. 

"  Now,  I  know  every  word  you  are  going  to  say. 
I  do  not  say  they  were  alike,  in  fact.  One  fell  into 
a  condition  where  everything  acted  against  the  nat- 
ural tendency,  and  the  other  where  everything  acted 
for  it ;  and  so  one  turned  out  a  pretty  wilful,  stout, 
overbearing  old  democrat,  and  the  other  a  wilful, 


326  UNCLE   tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

stout  old  despot.  If  both  had  owned  plantations  in 
Louisiana,  they  would  have  been  as  like  as  two  old 
bullets  cast  in  the  same  mould." 

"  What  an  undutiful  boy  you  are ! "  said  Miss 
Ophelia.   . 

"  I  don't  mean  them  any  disrespect,"  said  St. 
Clare.  "  You  know  reverence  is  not  my  forte.  But, 
to  go  back  to  my  history  : 

"  When  father  died,  he  left  the  whole  property  to 
us  twin  boys,  to  be  divided  as  '  we  should  agree. 
There  does  not  breathe  on  God's  earth  a  nobler- 
souled,  more  generous  fellow,  than  Alfred,  in  all 
that  concerns  his  equals  ;  and  we  got  on  admirably 
with  this  property  question,  without  a  single  un- 
brotherly  word  or  feeling.  We  undertook  to  work 
the  plantation  together;  and  Alfred,  whose  outward 
life  and  capabilities  had  double  the  strength  of  mine, 
became  an  enthusiastic  planter,  and  a  wonderfully 
successful  one. 

"  But  two  years'  trial  satisfied  me  that  I  could 
not  be  a  partner  in  that  matter.  To  have  a  great 
gang  of  seven  hundred,  whom  I  could  not  know 
personally,  or  feel  any  individual  interest  in,  bought 
and  driven,  housed,  fed,  worked  like  so  many  horned 
cattle,  strained  up  to  military  precision, — the  ques- 
tion of  how  little  of  life's  commonest  enjoyments 
would  keep  them  in  working  order  being  a  constantly 
recurring  problem, — the  necessity  of  drivers  and 
overseers, — the  ever-necessary  whip,  first,  last,  and 
only  argument, — the  whole  thing  was  insufferably 
disgusting  and  loathsome  to  me  ;  and  when  I  thought 
of  my  mother's  estimate  of  one  poor  human  soul,  it 
became  even  frightful ! 

"  It  's  all  nonsense  to  talk  to  me  about  slaves 
enjoying  all  this  !     To  this  day,  I  have  no   patience 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  327 

with  the  unutterable  trash  that  some  of  your  pat- 
ronizing Northerners  have  made  up,  as  in  their  zeal 
to  apologize  for  our  sins.  We  all  know  better. 
Tell  me  that  any  man  living  wants  to  work  all  his 
days,  from  day-dawn  till  dark,  under  the  constant 
eye  of  a  master,  without  the  power  of  putting  forth 
one  irresponsible  volition,  on  the  same  dreary, 
monotonous,  unchanging  toil,  and  all  for  two  pairs 
of  pantaloons  and  a  pair  of  shoes  a  year,  with  enough 
food  and  shelter  to  keep  him  in  working  order ! 
Any  man  who  thinks  that  human  beings  can,  as  a 
general  thing,  be  made  about  as  comfortable  that 
way  as  any  other,  I  wish  he  might  try  it.  I  'd  buy 
the  dog,  and  work  him,  with  a  clear  conscience  !  " 

"  I  always  have  supposed,"  said  Miss  Ophelia, 
"  that  you,  all  of  you,  approved  of  these  things,  and 
thought  them  right, — according  to  Scripture." 

"  Humbug !  We  are  not  quite  reduced  to  that 
yet.  Alfred,  who  is  as  determined  a  despot  as  ever 
walked,  does  not  pretend  to  this  kind  of  defence  ; — 
no,  he  stands,  high  and  haughty,  on  that  good  old 
respectable  ground,  the  right  of  the  strongest;  and 
he  says,  and  I  think  quite  sensibly,  that  the  American 
planter  is  'only  doing,  in  another  form,  what  the 
English  aristocracy  and  capitalists  are  doing  by  the 
lower  classes  ; '  that  is,  I  take  it,  appropriating  them, 
body  and  bone,  soul  and  spirit,  to  their  use  and 
convenience.  He  defends  both, — and  I  think,  at 
least,  cojisistcntly .  He  says  that  there  can  be  no 
high  civilization  without  enslavement  of  the  masses, 
either  nominal  or  real.  There  must,  he  says,  be  a 
lower  class,  given  up  to  physical  toil  and  confined 
to  an  animal  nature  ;  and  a  higher  one  thereby 
acquires  leisure  and  wealth  for  a  more  expanded 
intelligence    and    improvement,    and    becomes   the 


328  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 

directing  soul  of  the  lower.  So  he  reasons,  because,, 
as  I  said,  he  is  born  an  aristocrat; — so  I  don't  be- 
lieve, because  I  was  born  a  democrat." 

"  How  in  the  world  can  the  two  things  be  com- 
pared ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  The  English  laborer 
is  not  sold,  traded,  parted  from  his  family,  whipped." 

"  He  is  as  much  at  the  will  of  his  employer  as  if 
he  were  sold  to  him.  The  slave-owner  can  whip  his 
refractory  slave  to  death, — the  capitalist  can  starve 
him  to  death.  As  to  family  security,  it  is  hard  ta 
say  which  is  the  worst, — to  have  one  's  children  sold, 
or  see  them  starve  to  death  at  home." 

"  But  it 's  no  kind  of  apology  for  slavery,  to  prove 
that  it  is  n't  worse  than  some  other  bad  thing." 

"  I  did  n't  give  it  for  one, — nay,  I  '11  say,  besides, 
that  ours  is  the  more  bold  and  palpable  infringe- 
ment of  human  rights ;  actually  buying  a  man  up, 
like  a  horse, — looking  at  his  teeth,  cracking  his 
joints,  and  trying  his  paces,  and  then  paying  down 
for  him, — having  speculators,  breeders,  traders,  and 
brokers  in  human  bodies  and  souls, — sets  the  thing^ 
before  the  eyes  of  the  civilized  world  in  a  more  tan- 
gible form,  though  the  thing  done  be,  after  all,  in 
its  nature,  the  same  ;  that  is,  appropriating  one  set 
of  human  beings  to  the  use  and  improvement  of 
another,  without  any  regard  to  their  own." 

"  I  never  thought  of  the  matter  in  this  light,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Well,  I  've  travelled  in  England  some,  and  I  've 
looked  over  a  good  many  documents  as  to  the  state 
of  their  lower  classes ;  and  I  really  think  there  is  no 
denying  Alfred,  when  he  says  that  his  slaves  are 
better  off  than  a  large  class  of  the  population  of 
England.  You  see,  you  must  not  infer,  from  what 
I  have  told  you,  that  Alfred  is  what  is  called  a  hard 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LQWLF.  329 

master  ;  for  he  isn't.  He  is  despotic,  and  unmer- 
ciful to  insubordination  ;  he  would  shoot  a  fellow 
down  with  as  little  remorse  as  he  would  shoot  a 
buck,  if  he  opposed  him.  But,  in  general,  he  takes 
a  sort  of  pride  in  having  his  slaves  comfortably  fed 
and  accommodated. 

"  When  I  was  with  him,  I  insisted  that  he  should 
do  something  for  their  instruction  ;  and,  to  please 
me,  he  did  get  a  chaplain,  and  used  to  have  them 
catechized  Sunday,  though,  I  believe,  in  his  heart, 
that  he  thought  it  would  do  about  as  much  good  to 
set  a  chaplain  over  his  dogs  and  horses.  And  the 
fact  is,  that  a  mind  stupefied  and  animalized  by 
every  bad  influence  from  the  hour  of  birth,  spend- 
ing the  whole  of  every  week-day  in  unreflecting  toil, 
cannot  be  done  much  with  by  a  few  hours  on  Sunday. 
The  teachers  of  Sunday-schools  among  the  manufac- 
turing population  of  Englamd,  and  among  plantation- 
hands  in  our  country,  could  perhaps  testify  to  the 
same  result,  there  and  here.  Yet  some  striking  excep- 
tions there  are  among  us,  from  the  fact  that  the  negro 
is  naturally  more  impressible  to  religious  sentiment 
than  the  white." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  how  came  you  to 
give  up  your  plantation  life?  " 

"Well,  we  jogged  on  together  some  time,  till 
Alfred  saw  plainly  that  I  was  no  planter.  He 
thought  it  absurd,  after  he  had  reformed,  and  altered,, 
and  improved  everywhere,  to  suit  my  notions,  that 
I  still  remained  unsatisfied.  The  fact  was,  it  was, 
after  all,  the  thing  that  I  hated, — the  using  these 
men  and  women,  the  perpetuation  of  all  this  igno- 
rance, brutality  and  vice, — just  to  make  money  for 
me  ! 

"  Besides,  I  was  always  interfering  in  the  details. 


32,0  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Being  myself  one  of  the  laziest  of  mortals,  I  had 
altogether  too  much  fellow-feeling  for  the  lazy  ;  and 
when  poor,  shiftless  dogs  put  stones  at  the  bottom 
of  their  cotton-baskets  to  make  them  weigh  heavier, 
or  filled  their  sacks  with  dirt,  with  cotton  at  the  top, 
it  seemed  so  exactly  like  what  I  should  do  if  I  were 
they,  I  could  n't  and  would  n't  have  them  flogged 
for  it.  Well,  of  course,  there  was  an  end  of  planta- 
tion discipline ;  and  Alf  and  I  came  to  about  the 
same  point  that  I  and  my  respected  father  did,  years 
before.  So  he  told  me  that  I  was  a  womanish  sen- 
timentalist, and  would  never  do  for  business  life  ; 
and  advised  me  to  take  the  bank-stock  and  the  New 
Orleans  family  mansion,  and  go  to  writing  poetry, 
and  let  him  manage  the  plantation.  So  we  parted, 
and  I  came  here." 

"  But  why  did  n't  you  free  your  slaves  ? " 

"Well,  I  was  n't  up  to  that.  To  hold  them  as 
tools  for  money-making,  I  could  not ; — have  them 
to  help  spend  money,  you  know,  did  n't  look  quite 
so  ugly  to  me.  Some  of  them  were  old  house- 
servants,  to  whom  I  was  much  attached ;  and  the 
younger  ones  were  children  to  the  old.  All  were 
well  satisfied  to  be  as  they  were."  He  paused,  and 
walked  reflectively  up  and  down  the  room. 

"There  was,"  said  St.  Clare,  "a  time  in  my  life 
when  I  had  plans  and  hopes  of  doing  something  in 
this  world,  more  than  to  float  and  drift.  I  had  vague, 
indistinct  yearnings  to  be  a  sort  of  emancipator, — to 
free  my  native  land  from  this  spot  and  stain.  All 
young  men  have  had  such  fever-fits,  I  suppose,  some 
time, — but  then — " 

"  Why  did  n't  you  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia  ; — "  you 
ought  not  to  put  your  hand  to  the  plough,  and  look 
back." 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  33 1 

"  O,  well,  things  did  n't  go  with  me  as  I  expected, 
and  I  got  the  despair  of  living  that  Solomon  did.  I 
suppose  it  was  a  necessary  incident  to  wisdom  in  us 
both  ;  but,  some  how  or  other,  instead  of  being  actor 
and  regenerator  in  society,  I  became  a  piece  of  drift- 
wood, and  have  been  floating  and  eddying  about, 
ever  since.  Alfred  scolds  me,  every  time  we  meet ; 
and  he  has  the  better  of  me,  I  grant, — for  he  really 
does  something  ;  his  life  is  a  logical  result  of  his 
opinions,  and  mine  is  a  contemptible  non  sequitur" 

"  My  dear  cousin,  can  you  be  satisfied  with  such 
a  way  of  spending  your  probation  ?  " 

"Satisfied!  Was  I  not  just  telling  you  I  de- 
spised it  ?  But,  then,  to  come  back  to  this  point, — 
we  were  on  this  liberation  business.  I  don't  think 
my  feelings  about  slavery  are  peculiar.  I  find  many 
men  who,  in  their  hearts,  think  of  it  just  as  I  do. 
The  land  groans  under  it ;  and,  bad  as  it  is  for  the 
slave,  it  is  worse,  if  anything,  for  the  master.  It 
takes  no  spectacles  to  see  that  a  great  class  of  vi- 
cious, improvident,  degraded  people,  among  us,  are 
an  evil  to  us,  as  well  as  to  themselves.  The  capi- 
talist and  aristocrat  of  England  cannot  feel  that  as  we 
do,  because  they  do  not  mingle  with  the  class  they 
degrade  as  we  do.  They  are  in  our  houses  ;  they  are 
the  associates  of  our  children,  and  they  form  their 
minds  faster  than  we  can  ;  for  they  are  a  race  that 
children  always  will  cling  to  and  assimilate  with.  If 
Eva,  now,  was  not  more  angel  than  ordinary,  she 
would  be  ruined.  We  might  as  well  allow  the  small- 
pox to  run  among  them,  and  think  our  children  would 
not  take  it,  as  to  let  them  be  uninstructed  and  vicious, 
and  think  our  children  will  not  be  affected  by  that. 
Yet  our  laws  positively  and  utterly  forbid  any  effi- 
cient general  educational   system,   and  they  do   it 

23 


332  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

wisely,  too  ;  for,  just  begin  and  thoroughly  educate 
one  generation,  and  the  whole  thing  would  be  blown 
sky  high.  If  we  did  not  give  them  liberty,  they  would 
take  it." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  will  be  the  end  of  this  ? " 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  I  don't  know.  One  thing  is  certain,— -that  there 
is  a  mustering  among  the  masses,  the  world  over ; 
and  there  is  a  dies  ir&  coming  on,  sooner  or  later. 
The  same  thing  is  working  in  Europe,  in  England, 
and  in  this  country.  My  mother  used  to  tell  me  of 
a  millennium  that  was  coming,  when  Christ  should 
reign,  and  all  men  should  be  free  and  happy.  And 
she  taught  me,  when  I  was  a  boy,  to  pray,  '  Thy 
kingdom  come.'  Sometimes  I  think  all  this  sighing, 
and  groaning,  and  stirring  among  the  dry  bones 
foretells  what  she  used  to  tell  me  was  coming.  But 
who  may  abide  the  day  of  His  appearing  ?  " 

"  Augustine,  sometimes  I  think  you  are  not  far 
from  the  kingdom,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  laying  down 
her  knitting,  and  looking  anxiously  at  her  cousin. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  good  opinion  ;  but  it 's  up 
and  down  with  me,— up  to  heaven's  gate  in  theory, 
down  in  earth's  dust  in  practice.  But  there 's  the 
tea-bell, — do  let  ?s  go, — and  don't  say,  now,  I  have  n't 
had  one  downright  serious  talk,  for  once  in  my 
life." 

At  table,  Marie  alluded  to  the  incident  of  Prue. 
"  I  suppose  you  '11  think,  cousin,"  she  said,  "  that  we 
are  all  barbarians." 

"  I  think  that 's  a  barbarous  thing,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  "but  I  don't  think  you  are  all  barbarians." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Marie,  "  I  know  it 's  impossible 
to  get  along  with  some  of  these  creatures.  They 
are  so  bad  they  ought  not  to  live.     I  don't  feel  a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  333 

particle  of  sympathy  for  such  cases.  If  they  'd  only 
behave  themselves,  it  would  not  happen." 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Eva,  "  the  poor  creature 
was  unhappy  ;  that 's  what  made  her  drink." 

"  O,  fiddlestick  !  as  if  that  were  any  excuse  !  I  'm 
unhappy,  very  often.  I  presume,"  she  said,  pen- 
sively, "  that  I  've  had  greater  trials  than  ever  she 
had.  It 's  just  because  they  are  so  bad.  There 's 
some  of  them  that  you  cannot  break  in  by  any  kind 
of  severity.  I  remember  father  had  a  man  that  was 
so  lazy  he  would  run  away  just  to  get  rid  of  work, 
and  lie  round  in  the  swamps,  stealing  and  doing 
all  sorts  of  horrid  things.  That  man  was  caught 
and  whipped,  time  and  again,  and  it  never  did  him 
any  good ;  and  the  last  time  he  crawled  off,  though 
he  could  n  't  but  just  go,  and  died  in  the  swamp. 
There  was  no  sort  of  reason  for  it,  for  father's  hands 
were  always  treated  kindly." 

"  I  broke  a  fellow  in,  once,"  said  St.  Clare,  "that 
all  the  overseers  and  masters  had  tried  their  hands 
on  in  vain." 

"  You  !  "  said  Marie  ;  "  well,  I  'd  be  glad  to  know 
when  you  ever  did  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  Well,  he  was  a  powerful,  gigantic  fellow, — a 
native-born  African ;  and  he  appeared  to  have  the 
rude  instinct  of  freedom  in  him  to  an  uncommon 
degree.  He  was  a  regular  African  lion.  They  called 
him  Scipio.  Nobody  could  do  anything  with  him  ; 
and  he  was  sold  round  from  overseer  to  overseer,  till 
at  last  Alfred  bought  him,  because  he  thought  he  could 
manage  him.  Well,  one  day  he  knocked  down  the 
overseer,  and  was  fairly  off  into  the  swamps.  I  was 
on  a  visit  to  Alf's  plantation,  for  it  was  after  we  had 
dissolved  partnership.  Alfred  was  greatly  exas- 
perated ;  but  I  told  him  that  it  was  his  own  fault, 


334  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

and  laid  him  any  wager  that  I  could  break  the  man  ; 
and  finally  it  was  agreed  that,  if  I  caught  him,  I 
should  have  him  to  experiment  on.  So  they  mus- 
tered out  a  party  of  some  six  or  seven,  with  guns 
and  dogs,  for  the  hunt.  People,  you  know,  can 
get  up  just  as  much  enthusiasm  in  hunting  a  man 
as  a  deer,  if  it  is  only  customary ;  in  fact,  I  got  a 
little  excited  myself,  though  I  had  only  put  in  as  a 
sort  of  mediator,  in  case  he  was  caught. 

"  Well,  the  dogs  bayed  and  howled,  and  we  rode 
and  scampered,  and  finally  we  started  him.  He  ran 
and  bounded  like  a  buck,  and  kept  us  well  in  the 
rear  for  some  time  ;  but  at  last  he  got  caught  in  an 
impenetrable  thicket  of  cane ;  then  he  turned  to 
bay,  and  I  tell  you  he  fought  the  dogs  right  gal- 
lantly. He  dashed  them  to  right  and  left,  and 
actually  killed  three  of  them  with  only  his  naked 
fists,  when  a  shot  from  a  gun  brought  him  down, 
and  he  fell,  wounded  and  bleeding,  almost  at  my 
feet.  The  poor  fellow  looked  up  at  me  with  man- 
hood and  despair  both  in  his  eye.  I  kept  back  the 
dogs  and  the  party,  as  they  came  pressing  up,  and 
claimed  him  as  my  prisoner.  It  was  all  I  could  do 
to  keep  them  from  shooting  him,  in  the  flush  of 
success  ;  but  I  persisted  in  my  bargain,  and  Alfred 
sold  him  to  me.  Well,  I  took  him  in  hand,  and  in 
one  fortnight  I  had  him  tamed  down  as  submjpsive 
and  tractable  as  heart  could  desire." 

"  What  in  the  world  did  you  do  to  him  ?  "  said 
Marie. 

"  Well,  it  was  quite  a  simple  process.  I  took 
him  to  my  own  room,  had  a  good  bed  made  for  him, 
dressed  his  wounds,  and  tended  him  myself,  until 
he  got  fairly  on  his  feet  again.  And,  in  process  of 
time,  I  had  free  papers  made  out  for  him,  and  told 
him  he  might  go  where  he  liked." 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  335 

"  And  did  he  go  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  No.  The  foolish  fellow  tore  the  paper  in  two, 
and  absolutely  refused  to  leave  me.  I  never  had  a 
braver,  better  fellow, — trusty  and  true  as  steel.  He 
embraced  Christianity  afterwards,  and  became  as 
gentle  as  a  child.  He  used  to  oversee  my  place  on 
the  lake,  and  did  it  capitally,  too.  I  lost  him  the 
first  cholera  season.  In  fact,  he  laid  down  his  life 
for  me.  For  I  was  sick,  almost  to  death  ;  and  when, 
through  the  panic,  everybody  else  fled,  Scipio  worked 
for  me  like  a  giant,  and  actually  brought  me  back 
into  life  again.  But,  poor  fellow !  he  was  taken, 
right  after,  and  there  was  no  saving  him.  I  never- 
felt  anybody's  loss  more." 

Eva  had  come  gradually  nearer  and  nearer  to  her 
father,  as  he  told  the  story, — her  small  lips  apart, 
her  eyes  wide  and  earnest  with  absorbing  interest. 

As  he  finished,  she  suddenly  threw  her  arms, 
around  his  neck,  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  con- 
vulsively. 

"  Eva,  dear  child  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  St., 
Clare,  as  the  child's  small  frame  trembled  and 
shook  with  the  violence  of  her  feelings.  "  This, 
child,"  he  added,  "  ought  not  to  hear  any  of  this 
kind  of  thing, — she  's  nervous." 

"  No,  papa,  I  'm  not  nervous,"  said  Eva,  control- 
ling herself,  suddenly,  with  a  strength  of  resolution 
singular  in  such  a  child.  "  I  'm  not  nervous,  but 
these  things  sink  into  my  heart." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Eva  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  papa.  I  think  a  great  many 
thoughts.     Perhaps  some  day  I  shall  tell  you." 

"  Well,  think  away,  dear, — only  don't  cry  and 
worry  your  papa,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  Look  here, — 
see  what  a  beautiful  peach  I  have  got  for  you  ! " 


33&  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Eva  took  it,  and  smiled,  though  there  was  still  a 
nervous  twitching  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  Come,  look  at  the  gold-fish,"  said  St.  Clare,  tak- 
ing her  hand  and  stepping  on  to  the  verandah.  A 
few  moments,  and  merry  laughs  were  heard  through 
the  silken  curtains,  as  Eva  and  St.  Clare  were  pelt- 
ing each  other  with  roses,  and  chasing  each  other 
among  the  alleys  of  the  court. 


There  is  danger  that  our  humble  friend  Tom  be 
neglected  amid  the  adventures  of  the  higher  born  ; 
but,  if  our  readers  will  accompany  us  up  to  a  little 
loft  over  the  stable,  they  may,  perhaps,  learn  a  little 
of  his  affairs.  It  was  a  decent  room,  containing 
a  bed,  a  chair,  and  a  small,  rough  stand,  where  lay 
Tom's  Bible  and  hymn-book ;  and  where  he  sits,  at 
present,  with  his  slate  before  him,  intent  on  some- 
thing that  seems  to  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  anxious 
thought. 

The  fact  was,  that  Tom's  home-yearnings  had 
become  so  strong,  that  he  had  begged  a  sheet  of 
writing-paper  of  Eva,  and,  mustering  up  all  his 
small  stock  of  literary  attainment  acquired  by 
Mas'r  George's  instructions,  he  conceived  the  bold 
idea  of  writing  a  letter  ;  and  he  was  busy  now,  on 
iiis  slate,  getting  out  his  first  draft.  Tom  was  in  a 
good  deal  of  trouble,  for  the  forms  of  some  of  the 
letters  he  had  forgotten  entirely ;  and  of  what  he 
did  remember,  he  did  not  know  exactly  which  to 
use.  And  while  he  was  working,  and  breathing 
very  hard,  in  his  earnestness,  Eva  alighted,  like  a 
bird,  on  the  round  of  his  chair  behind  him,  and 
peeped  over  his  shoulder. 

"  O,  Uncle  Tom  !  what  funny  things  you  are 
making,  there  ?  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  337 

"  I  'm  trying  to  write  to  my  poor  old  woman, 
Miss  Eva,  and  my  little  chil'en,"  said  Tom,  drawing 
the  back  of  his  hand  over  his  eyes  ;  "  but,  some 
how,  I  'm  feard  I  shan't  make  it  out." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  Tom  !  I  've  learnt  to 
write  some.  Last  year  I  could  make  all  the  letters, 
but  I  'm  afraid  I  've  forgotten." 

So  Eva  put  her  little  golden  head  close  to  his, 
and  the  two  commenced  a  grave  and  anxious  dis- 
cussion, each  one  equally  earnest,  and  about  equally 
ignorant ;  and,  with  a  deal  of  consulting  and  advis- 
ing, over  every  word,  the  composition  began,  as  they 
"both  felt  very  sanguine,  to  look  quite  like  writing. 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Tom,  it  really  begins  to  look  beau- 
tiful," said  Eva,  gazing  delightedly  on  it.  "  How 
pleased  your  wife  '11  be,  and  the  poor  little  children  ! 
O,  It  's  a  shame  you  ever  had  to  go  away  from 
them  !  I  mean  to  ask  papa  to  let  you  go  back, 
some  time." 

"  Missis  said  that  she  would  send  down  money 
for  me,  as  soon  as  they  could  get  it  together,"  said 
Tom.  "  I  'm  'spectin'  she  will.  Young  Mas'r 
George,  he  said  he  'd  come  for  me  ;  and  he  gave  me 
this  yer  dollar  as  a  sign  ; "  and  Tom  drew  from 
under  his  clothes  the  precious  dollar. 

"  O,  he  '11  certainly  come,  then  !  "  said  Eva. 
*'■  I  'm  so  glad  !  " 

"  And  I  wanted  to  send  a  letter,  you  know,  to  let 
"em  know  whar  I  was,  and  tell  poor  Chloe  that  I 
was  well  off,— cause  she  felt  so  drefful,  poor  soul !  " 

"  I  say,  Tom  !  "  said  St.  Clare's  voice,  coming  in 
the  door  at  this  moment. 

Tom  and  Eva  both  started. 

"  What 's  here  ■?  "  said  St.  Clare,  coming  up  and 
looking  at  the  slate. 


338  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  O,  it  's  Tom's  letter.  I  'm  helping  him  to 
write  it,"  said  Eva  ;  "  is  ri't  it  nice  ?  " 

"  I  would  n't  discourage  either  of  you,"  said  St. 
Clare,  "  but  I  rather  think,  Tom,  you  'd  better  get 
me  to  write  your  letter  for  you.  I  '11  do  it,  when  I 
come  home  from  my  ride." 

"  I  t's  very  important  he  should  write,"  said  Eva, 
"because  his  mistress  is  going  to  send  down  money 
to  redeem  him,  you  know,  papa ;  he  told  me  they 
told  him  so." 

St.  Clare  thought,  in  his  heart,  that  this  was  prob- 
ably only  one  of  those  things  which  good-natured 
owners  say  to  their  servants,  to  alleviate  their  horror 
of  being  sold,  without  any  intention  of  fulfilling  the 
expectation  thus  excited.  But  he  did  not  make  any 
audible  comment  upon  it, — only  ordered  Tom  to  get 
the  horses  out  for  a  ride. 

Tom's  letter  was  written  in  due  form  for  him  that 
evening,  and  safely  lodged  in  the  post-office. 

Miss  Ophelia  still  persevered  in  her  labors  in  the 
housekeeping  line.  It  was  universally  agreed, 
among  all  the  household,  from  Dinah  down  to  the* 
youngest  urchin,  that  Miss  Ophelia  was  decidedly 
"  curis," — a  term  by  which  a  southern  servant  im- 
plies that  his  or  her  betters  don't  exactly  suit  them. 

The  higher  circle  in  the  family — to  wit,  Adolph, 
Jane  and  Rosa — agreed  that  she  was  no  lady ;  ladies 
never  kept  working  about  as  she  did  ; — that  she  had 
no  air  at  all ;  and  they  were  surprised  that  she 
should  be  any  relation  of  the  St.  Clares.  Even 
Marie  declared  that  it  was  absolutely  fatiguing  to 
see  Cousin  Ophelia  always  so  busy.  And,  in  fact, 
Miss  Ophelia's  industry  was  so  incessant  as  to  lay 
some  foundation  for  the  complaint.  She  sewed  and 
stitched  away,  from    daylight    till    dark,    with   the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  7>39 

energy  of  one  who  is  pressed  on  by  some  immediate 
urgency;  and  then,  when  the  light  faded,  and  the 
work  was  folded  away,  with  one  turn  out  came  the 
ever-ready  knitting- work,  and  there  she  was  again,, 
going  on  as  briskly  as  ever.  It  really  was  a  labor 
to  see  her. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

TOPSY. 

One  morning,  while  Miss  Ophelia  was  busy  in 
some  of  her  domestic  cares,  St.  Clare's  voice  was 
heard,  calling  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Come  down  here,  Cousin  ;  I  've  something  to 
show  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  coming  down„ 
with  her  sewing  in  her  hand. 

"  I  've  made  a  purchase  for  your  department, — see 
here,"  said  St.  Clare ;  and,  with  the  word,  he  pulled 
along  a  little  negro  girl,  about  eight  or  nine  years  of 
age. 

She  was  one  of  the  blackest  of  her  race  ;  and  her 
round,  shining  eyes,  glittering  as  glass  beads,  moved 
with  quick  and  restless  glances  over  everything  in 
the  room.  Her  mouth,  half  open  with  astonishment 
at  the  wonders  of  the  new  Mas'r's  parlor,  displayed 
a  white  and  brilliant  set  of  teeth.  Her  woolly  hair 
was  braided  in  sundry  little  tails,  which  stuck  out 
in  every  direction.  The  expression  of  her  face  was 
an  odd  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  cunning,  over 
which  was  oddly  drawn,  like  a  kind  of  veil,  an  ex- 
pression of  the  most  doleful  gravity  and  solemnity. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  single  filthy,  ragged  garment, 
made  of  bagging ;  and  stood  with  her  hands  de- 
murely  folded   before   her.     Altogether,  there  was 


34°  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

something  odd  and  goblin-like  about  her  appear- 
ance,— something,  as  Miss  Ophelia  afterwards  said, 
"  so  heathenish,"  as  to  inspire  that  good  lady  with 
utter  dismay ;  and,  turning  to  St.  Clare,  she  said, 

"  Augustine,  what  in  the  world  have  you  brought 
that  thing  here  for  ?  " 

"  For  you  to  educate,  to  be  sure,  and  train  in  the 
way  she  should  go.  I  thought  she  was  rather  a 
funny  specimen  in  the  Jim  Crow  line.  Here, 
Topsy,"  he  added,  giving  a  whistle,  as  a  man  would 
to  call  the  attention  of  a  dog,  "give  us  a  song,  now, 
and  show  us  some  of  your  dancing." 

The  Mack,  glassy  eyes  glittered  with  a  kind  of 
wicked  drollery,  and  the  thing  struck  up,  in  a  clear 
shrill  voice,  an  odd  negro  melody,  to  which  she  kept 
time  with  her  hands  and  feet,  spinning  round,  clap- 
ping her  hands,  knocking  her  knees  together,  in  a 
•wild,  fantastic  sort  of  time,  and  producing  in  her 
throat  all  those  odd  guttural  sounds  which  distin- 
guish the  native  music  of  her  race  ;  and  finally,  turn- 
ing a  summerset  or  two,  and  giving  a  prolonged 
dosing  note,  as  odd  and  unearthly  as  that  of  a  steam- 
whistle,  she  came  suddenly  down  on  the  carpet,  and 
stood  with  her  hands  folded,  and  a  most  sanctimo- 
nious expression  of  meekness  and  solemnity  over  her 
face,  only  broken  by  the  cunning  glances  which  she 
shot  askance  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 

Miss  Ophelia  stood  silent,  perfectly  paralyzed 
•with  amazement. 

St.  Clare,  like  a  mischievous  fellow  as  he  was, 
appeared  to  enjoy  her  astonishment ;  and,  address- 
ing the  child  again,  said, 

"  Topsy,  this  is  your  new  mistress.  I  'm  going 
to  give  you  up  to  her :  see  now  that  you  behave 
yourself." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  341 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Topsy,  with  sanctimonious 
gravity,  her  wicked  eyes  twinkling  as  she  spoke. 

"  You  're  going  to  be  good,  Topsy,  you  under- 
stand," said  St.  Clare. 

"  O  yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Topsy,  with  another  twinkle, 
Jier  hands  still  devoutly  folded. 

"  Now,  Augustine,  what  upon  earth  is  this  for  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  Your  house  is  so  full  of  these 
little  plagues,  now,  that  a  body  can't  set  down  their 
foot  without  treading  on  'em.  I  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  find  one  asleep  behind  the  door,  and  see 
one  black  head  poking  out  from  under  the  table,  one 
lying  on  the  door-mat, — and  they  are  mopping  and 
mowing  and  grinning  between  all  the  railings,  and 
tumbling  over  the  kitchen  floor !  What  on  earth 
<lid  you  want  to  bring  this  one  for  ?  " 

"  For  you  to  educate — did  n't  I  tell  you  ?  You  're 
always  preaching  about  educating.  I  thought  I 
would  make  you  a  present  of  a  fresh-caught  speci- 
men, and  let  you  try  your  hand  on  her,  and  bring 
her  up  in  the  way  she  should  go." 

"  I  don't  want  her,  I  am  sure  ; — I  have  more  to 
do  with  'em  now  than  I  want  to." 

"  That 's  you  Christians,  all  over  ! — you  '11  get  up 
a  society,  and  get  some  poor  missionary  to  spend  all 
his  days  among  just  such  heathen.  But  let  me  see 
one  of  you  that  would  take  one  into  your  house  with 
you,  and  take  the  labor  of  their  conversion  on  your- 
selves !  No ;  when  it  comes  to  that,  they  are  dirty 
and  disagreeable,  and  it 's  too  much  care,  and  so 
on." 

"  Augustine,  you  know  I  did  n't  think  of  it  in 
that  light,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  evidently  softening. 
"  Well,  it  might  be  a  real  missionary  work,"  said  she, 
looking  rather  more  favorably  on  the  child. 


342  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

St.  Clare  had  touched  the  right  string.  Miss 
Ophelia's  conscientiousness  was  ever  on  the  alert* 
"  But,"  she  added,  "  I  really  did  n't  see  the  need  of 
buying  this  one ; — there  are  enough  now,  in  your 
house,  to  take  all  my  time  and  skill." 

"Well,  then,  Cousin,"  said  St.  Clare,  drawing- 
her  aside,  "  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon  for  my  good- 
for-nothing  speeches.  You  are  so  good,  after  all, 
that  there  's  no  sense  in  them.  Why,  the  fact  is,  this 
concern  belonged  to  a  couple  of  drunken  creatures 
that  keep  a  low  restaurant  that  I  have  to  pass  by 
every  day,  and  I  was  tired  of  hearing  her  screaming, 
and  them  beating  and  swearing  at  her.  She  looked 
bright  and  funny,  too,  as  if  something  might  be 
made  of  her  • — so  I  bought  her,  and  I  '11  give  her  to 
you.  Try,  now,  and  give  her  a  good  orthodox  New 
England  bringing  up,  and  see  what  it  '11  make  of 
her.  You  know  I  have  n't  any  gift  that  way ;  but 
I  'd  like  you  to  try." 

"  Well,  I  '11  do  what  I  can,"  said  Miss  Ophelia  ; 
and  she  approached  her  new  subject  very  much  as 
a  person  might  be  supposed  to  approach  a  black 
spider,  supposing  them  to  have  benevolent  designs 
toward  it. 

"  She  's  dreadfully  dirty,  and  half  naked,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  take  her  downstairs,  and  make  some  of 
them  clean  and  clothe  her  up." 

Miss  Ophelia  carried  her  to  the  kitchen  regions. 

"  Don't  see  what  Mas'r  St.  Clare  wants  of  'nother 
nigger  !  "  said  Dinah,  surveying  the  new  arrival  with 
no  friendly  air.  "  Won't  have  her  round  under  my 
feet,  /know  !  " 

"  Pah  !  "  said  Rosa  and  Jane,  with  surpreme  dis- 
gust ;  "  let  her  keep  out  of  our  way  !     What  in  the 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  343 

world  Mas'r  wanted  another  of  these  low  niggers 
for,  I  can't  see  !  " 

"  You  go  long !  No  more  nigger  dan  you  be, 
Miss  Rosa,"  said  Dinah,  who  felt  this  last  remark  a 
reflection  on  herself.  "  You  seem  to  tink  yourself 
white  folks.  You  an't  nerry  one,  black  ?ior  white. 
I  'd  like  to  be  one  or  turrer." 

Miss  Ophelia  saw  that  there  was  nobody  in  the 
camp  that  would  undertake  to  oversee  the  cleansing 
and  dressing  of  the  new  arrival ;  and  so  she  was 
forced  to  do  it  herself,  with  some  very  ungracious 
and  reluctant  assistance  from  Jane. 

It  is  not  for  ears  polite  to  hear  the  particulars  of 
the  first  toilet  of  a  neglected,  abused  child.  In  fact, 
in  this  world,  multitudes  must  live  and  die  in  a 
state  that  it  would  be  too  great  a  shock  to  the  nerves 
of  their  fellow-mortals  even  to  hear  described.  Miss 
Ophelia  had  a  good,  strong,  practical  deal  of  resolu- 
tion ;  and  she  went  through  all  the  disgusting  details 
with  heroic  thoroughness,  though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, with  no  very  gracious  air, — for  endurance  was 
the  utmost  to  which  her  principles  could  bring  her. 
When  she  saw,  on  the  back  and  shoulders  of  the 
child,  great  welts  and  calloused  spots,  ineffaceable 
marks  of  the  system  under  which  she  had  grown 
up  thus  far,  her  heart  became  pitiful  within  her. 

"  See  there  !  "  said  Jane,  pointing  to  the  marks, 
'■  don't  that  show  she  's  a  limb  ?  We  '11  have  fine 
works  with  her,  I  reckon.  I  hate  these  nigger 
young  uns  !  so  disgusting  !  I  wonder  that  Mas'r 
would  buy  her  !  " 

The  "  young  un  "  alluded  to  heard  all  these  com- 
ments with  the  subdued  and  doleful  air  which 
seemed  habitual  to  her,  only  scanning,  with  a  keen 
and  furtive  glance  of  her  flickering  eyes,  the  orna- 


344  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

ments  which  Jane  wore  in  her  ears.  When  arrayed 
at  last  in  a  suit  of  decent  and  whole  clothing,  her 
hair  cropped  short  to  her  head,  Miss  Ophelia,  with 
some  satisfaction,  said  she  looked  more  Christian- 
like than  she  did,  and  in  her  own  mind  began  to* 
mature  some  plans  for  her  instruction. 

Sitting  down  before  her,  she  began  to  question 
her. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Topsy  ? " 

"  Dun  no,  Missis,"  said  the  image,  with  a  grin 
that  showed  all  her  teeth. 

"  Don't  know  how  old  you  are  ?  Did  n't  any- 
body ever  tell  you  ?     Who  was  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Never  had  none  !  "  said  the  child,  with  another 
grin. 

"Never  had  any  mother?  W7hat  do  you  mean  ? 
Where  were  you  born  ? " 

16  Never  was  born  !  "  persisted  Topsy,  with  another 
grin,  that  looked  so  goblin-like,  that,  if  Miss  Ophelia 
had  been  at  all  nervous,  she  might  have  fancied 
that  she  had  got  hold  of  some  sooty  gnome  from 
the  land  of  Diablerie  ;  but  Miss  Ophelia  was  not 
nervous,  but  plain  and  business-like,  and  she  said,, 
with  some  sternness, 

"  You  must  n't  answer  me  in  that  way,  child  ; 
I'm  not  playing  with  you.  Tell  me -where  you 
were  born,  and  who  your  father  and  mother  were."" 

"  Never  was  born,"  reiterated  the  creature,  more 
emphatically;  "never  had  no  father  nor  mother,, 
nor  nothin'.  I  was  raised  by  a  speculator,  with 
lots  of  others.  Old  Aunt  Sue  used  to  take  car  on 
us." 

The  child  was  evidently  sincere  ;  and  Jane,  break- 
ing into  a  short  laugh,  said, 

"  Laws,  Missis,  there  's  heaps  of  'em.     Speculators 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  345 

buys  'em  up  cheap,  when  they  's  little,  and  gets 
'em  raised  for  market." 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  with  your  master  and 
mistress  ?  " 

"  Dun  no,  Missis." 

"  Is  it  a  year,  or  more,  or  less  ?  " 

"  Dun  no,  Missis." 

"  Laws,  Missis,  those  low  negroes, — they  can't 
tell;  they  don't  know  anything  about  time,"  said 
Jane  ;  "  they  don't  know  what  a  year  is  ;  they  don't 
know  their  own  ages." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  anything  about  GocL, 
Topsy  ? " 

The  child  looked  bewildered,  but  grinned  as 
usual. 

"  Do  you  know  who  made  you  ?  " 

"  Nobody,  as  I  knows  on,"  said  the  child,  with  a 
short  laugh. 

The  idea  appeared  to  amuse  her  considerably  p 
for  her  eyes  twinkled,  and  she  added, 

"  I  spect  I  grow'd.  Don't  think  nobody  never 
made  me." 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  sew  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia, 
who  thought  she  would  turn  her  inquiries  to  some- 
thing more  tangible. 

"No,  Missis." 

"  What  can  you  do  ? — -what  did  you  do  for  your 
master  and  mistress  ?  " 

"  Fetch  water,  and  wash  dishes,  and  rub  knives,, 
and  wait  on  folks." 

"  Were  they  good  to  you  ?  " 

"  Spect  they  was,"  said  the  child,  scanning  Miss 
Ophelia  cunningly. 

Miss  Ophelia  rose  from  this  encouraging  colloquy  ; 
St.  Clare  was  leaning  over  the  back  of  her  chair. 


346  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  You  find  virgin  soil  there,  Cousin ;  put  in 
your  own  ideas, — you  won't  find  many  to  pull  up." 

Miss  Ophelia's  ideas  of  education,  like  all  her 
other  ideas,  were  very  set  and  definite  ;  and  of  the 
kind  that  prevailed  in  New  England  a  century  ago, 
and  which  are  still  preserved  in  some  very  retired 
and  unsophisticated  parts,  where  there  are  no  rail- 
roads. As  nearly  as  could  be  expressed,  they  could 
be  comprised  in  very  few  words  :  to  teach  them  to 
mind  when  they  were  spoken  to  ;  to  teach  them  the 
catechism,  sewing,  and  reading ;  and  to  whip  them 
if  they  told  lies.  And  though,  of  course,  in  the 
flood  of  light  that  is  now  poured  on  education,  these 
are  left  far  away  in  the  rear,  yet  it  is  an  undisputed 
fact  that  our  grandmothers  raised  some  tolerably 
fair  men  and  women  under  this  regime,  as  many  of 
us  can  remember  and  testify.  At  all  events,  Miss 
Ophelia  knew  of  nothing  else  to  do  ;  and,  there- 
fore, applied  her  mind  to  her  heathen  with  the  best 
diligence  she  could  command. 

The  child  was  announced  and  considered  in  the 
family  as  Miss  Ophelia's  girl ;  and,  as  she  was 
looked  upon  with  no  gracious  eye  in  the  kitchen, 
Miss  Ophelia  resolved  to  confine  her  sphere  of 
operation  and  instruction  chiefly  to  her  own  chamber. 
With  a  self-sacrifice  which  some  of  our  readers  will 
appreciate,  she  resolved,  instead  of  comfortably  mak-> 
ing  her  own  bed,  sweeping  and  dusting  her  own  cham- 
ber,— which  she  had  hitherto  done,  in  utter  scorn 
of  all  offers  of  help  from  the  chambermaid  of  the 
establishment, — to  condemn  herself  to  the  martyr- 
dom of  instructing  Topsy  to  perform  these  opera- 
tions,— ah,  woe  the  day  !  Did  any  of  our  readers 
ever  do  the  same,  they  will  appreciate  the  amount 
of  her  self-sacrifice. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  •  347 

Miss  Ophelia  began  with  Topsy  by  taking  her 
into  her  chamber,  the  first  morning,  and  solemnly 
commencing  a  course  of  instruction  in  the  art  and 
mystery  of  bed-making. 

Behold,  then,  Topsy,  washed  and  shorn  of  all  the 
little  braided  tails  wherein  her  heart  had  delighted, 
arrayed  in  a  clean  gown,  with  well-starched  apron 
standing  reverently  before  Miss  Ophelia,  with  an 
expression  of  solemnity  well  befitting  a  funeral. 

"  Now,  Topsy,  I  'm  going  to  show  you  just  how 
my  bed  is  to  be  made.  I  am  very  particular  about 
my  bed.     You  must  learn  exactly  how  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  Topsy,  with  a  deep  sigh,  and 
a  face  of  woful  earnestness. 

"  Now,  Topsy,  look  here  ; — this  is  the  hem  of  the 
sheet, — this  is  the  right  side  of  the  sheet,  and  this  is 
the  wrong  ; — will  you  remember  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  Topsy,  with  another  sigh. 

"  Well,  now,  the  under  sheet  you  must  bring  over 
the  bolster, — so, — and  tuck  it  clear  down  under  the 
mattress  nice  and  smooth, — so, — do  you  see?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Topsy,  with  profound  atten- 
tion. 

■"  But  the  upper  sheet,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  must 
be  brought  down  in  this  way,  and  tucked  under  firm 
and  smooth  at  the  foot, — so,— the  narrow  hem  at 
the  foot." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Topsy,  as  before  ; — but  we 
will  add,  what  Miss  Ophelia  did  not  see,  that  dur- 
ing the  time  when  the  good  lady's  back  was  turned, 
in  the  zeal  of  her  manipulations,  the  young  disciple 
had  contrived  to  snatch  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  rib- 
bon, which  she  had  adroitly  slipped  into  her  sleeves, 
and  stood  with  her  hands  dutifully  folded,  as  be- 
fore. 

24 


348  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

"  Now,  Topsy,  let 's  see  you  do  this,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  pulling  off  the  clothes,  and  seating  her- 
self. 

Topsy,  with  great  gravity  and  adroitness,  went 
through  the  exercise  completely  to  Miss  Ophelia's 
satisfaction ;  smoothing  the  sheets,  patting  out 
every  wrinkle,  and  exhibiting,  through  the  whole 
process,  a  gravity  and  seriousness  with  which  her 
instructress  was  greatly  edified.  By  an  unlucky 
slip,  however,  a  fluttering  fragment  of  the  ribbon 
hung  out  of  one  of  her  sleeves,  just  as  she  was 
finishing,  and  caught  Miss  Ophelia's  attention. 
Instantly  she  pounced  upon  it.  "  What 's  this  ? 
You  naughty,  wicked  child. — you  've  been  stealing 
this ! " 

The  ribbon  was  pulled  out  of  Topsy's  own  sleeve, 
yet  was  she  not  in  the  least  disconcerted  ;  she  only 
looked  at  it  with  an  air  of  the  most  surprised  and 
unconscious  innocence. 

"  Laws  !  why,  that  ar  's  Miss  Feely's  ribbon,  an't 
it  ?     How  could  it  a  got  caught  in  my  sleeve  ?  " 

"  Topsy,  you  naughty  girl,  don't  you  tell  me  a  lie, 
— you  stole  that  ribbon  ! " 

"  Missis,  I  declar  for  't,  I  did  n't ; — never  seed  it 
till  dis  yer  blessed  minnit." 

"  Topsy,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  don't  you  know 
it 's  wicked  to  tell  lies  ? " 

"  I  never  tells  no  lies,  Miss  Feely,"  said  Topsy, 
with  virtuous  gravity  ;  "  it 's  jist  the  truth  I  've  been 
a  tellin  now,  and  an  't  nothin  else." 

"  Topsy,  I  shall  have  to  whip  you,  if  you  tell  lies 
so." 

"  Laws,  Missis,  if  you  's  to  whip  all  day,  could  n't 
say  no  other  way,"  said  Topsy,  beginning  to  blubber. 
"  I  never  seed  dat  ar, — it  must  a  got  caught  in  my 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  349 

sleeve.  Miss  Feely  must  have  left  it  on  the  bed, 
and  it  got  caught  in  the  clothes,  and  so  got  in  my 
sleeve." 

Miss  Ophelia  was  so  indicant  at  the  barefaced 
lie,  that  she  caught  the  child  and  shook  her. 

"  Don't  you  tell  me  that  again !  " 

The  shake  brought  the  gloves  on  to  the  floor,  from 
the  other  sleeve. 

M  There,  you !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  will  you  tell 
me  now,  you  did  n't  steal  the  ribbon  ?  " 

Topsy  now  confessed  to  the  gloves,  but  still  per- 
sisted in  denying  the  ribbon. 

"  Now,  Topsy,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  if  you  '11  con- 
fess all  about  it,  I  won't  whip  you  this  time."  Thus 
adjured,  Topsy  confessed  to  the  ribbon  and  gloves, 
with  woful  protestations  of  penitence. 

"  Well,  now,  tell  me.  I  know  you  must  have  taken 
other  things  since  you  have  been  in  the  house,  for  I 
let  you  run  about  all  day  yesterday.  Now,  tell  me 
if  you  took  anything,  and  I  shan't  whip  you." 

"  Laws,  Missis  !  I  took  Miss  Eva's  red  thing  she 
wars  on  her  neck." 

"  You  did,  you  naughty  child  ! — Well,  what  else  ? " 

"  I  took  Rosa's  yer-rings,— them  red  ones." 

"  Go  bring  them  to  me  this  minute,  both  of  'em." 

"  Laws,  Missis  !     I  can't, — they 's  burnt  up  !  " 

"  Burnt  up  ! — what  a  story !  Go  get  'em,  or  I  'II 
whip  you." 

Tospy,  with  loud  protestations,  and  tears,  and 
groans,  declared  that  she  could  not.  "  They 's  burnt 
up, — they  was." 

"  What  did  you  burn  'em  up  for?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  Cause  I  's  wicked. — I  is.  I  's  mighty  wicked, 
any  how.     I  can't  help  it." 


35 O  /.UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

Just  as  this  moment,  Eva  came  innocently  into  the 
room,  with  the  identical  coral  necklace  on  her  neck. 

"  Why,  Eva,  where  did  you  get  your  necklace  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia.    • 

"  Get  it  ?    Why,  I  've  had  it  on  all  day,"  said  Eva. 

"  Did  you  have  it  on  yesterday  ?  "    . 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  is  funny,  Aunty,  I  had  it  on  all 
night.     I  forgot  to  take  it  off  when  I  went  to  bed." 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  perfectly  bewildered  ;  the 
more  so,  as  Rosa,  at  that  instant,  came  into  the 
room,  with  a  basket  of  newly-ironed  linen  poised  on 
her  head,  and  the  coral  ear-drops  shaking  in  her 
ears  ! 

"  I  'm  sure  I  can't  tell  anything  what  to  do  with 
such  a  child  !  "  she  said,  in  despair.  "  What  in  the 
world  did  you  tell  me  you  took  those  things  for, 
Tospy?" 

"  Why,  Missis  said  I  must  'fess  ;  and  I  could  n't 
think  of  nothin'  else  to  'fess,"  said  Topsy,  rubbing 
her  eyes. 

"  But,  of  course,  I  did  n't  want  you  to  confess 
things  you  did  n't  do,"  said  Miss  Ophelia  ;  "  that  's 
telling  a  lie,  just  as  much  as  the  other." 

"  Laws,  now,  is  it  ?  "  said  Topsy,  with  an  air  of 
innocent  wonder. 

"  La,  there  an't  any  such  thing  as  truth  in  that 
limb,"  said  Rosa,  looking  indignantly  at  Topsy. 
"  If  I  was  Mas'r  St.  Clare,  I  'd  whip  her  till  the  blood 
run.     I  would, — I  'd  let  her  catch  it !  " 

"  No,  no,  Rosa,"  said  Eva,  with  an  air  of  com- 
mand, which  the  child  could  assume  at  times ;  "  you 
mustn't  talk  so,  Rosa.     I  can't  bear  to  hear  it." 

"  La  sakes  !  Miss  Eva,  you 's  so  good,  you  don't 
know  nothing  how  to  get  along  with  niggers.  There  's 
no  way  but  to  cut  'em  well  up,  I  tell  ye.'' 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.;  35 1 

"  Rosa  !  "  said  Eva,  "  hush  !  Don't  you  say 
another  word  of  that  sort !  "  and  the  eye  of  the  child 
flashed,  and  her  cheek  deepened  its  color. 

Rosa  was  cowed  in  a  moment. 

"  Miss  Eva  has  got  the  St.  Clare  blood  in  her, 
that 's  plain.  She  can  speak,  for  all  the  world,  just 
like  her  papa,"  she  said,  as  she  passed  out  of  the 
room. 

Eva  stood  looking  at  Topsy.  ./ 

There  stood  the  two  children,  representatives  of 
the  two  extremes  of  society.  The  fair,  high-bred 
child,  with  her  golden  head,  her  deep  eyes,  her 
spiritual,  noble  brow,  and  prince-like  movements ; 
and  her  black,  keen,  subtle,  cringing,  yet  acute 
neighbor.  They  stood  the  representatives  of  their 
races.  The  Saxon,  born  of  ages  of  cultivation, 
command,  education,  physical  and  moral  eminence  ; 
the  Afric,  born  of  ages  of  oppression,  submission, 
ignorance,  toil,  and  vice  ! 

Something,  perhaps,  of  such  thoughts  struggled 
through  Eva's  mind.  But  a  child's  thoughts  are, 
rather  dim,  undefined  instincts  ;  and  in  Eva's  noble 
nature  many  such  were  yearning  and  working,  for 
which  she  had  no  power  of  utterance.  When  Miss 
Ophelia  expatiated  on  Topsy's  naughty,  wicked  con- 
duct, the  child  looked  perplexed  and  sorrowful,  but 
said,  sweetly, 

"  Poor  Topsy,  why  need  you  steal  ?  You  're  going 
to  be  taken  good  care  of,  now.  I  'm  sure  I  'd  rather 
give  you  any  thing  of  mine,  than  have  you  steal  it." 

It  was  the  first  word  of  kindness  the  child  had 
ever  heard  in  her  life  ;  and  the  sweet  tone  and  man- 
ner struck  strangely  on  the  wild,  rude  heart,  and  a 
sparkle  of  something  like  a  tear  shone  in  the  keen, 
round,    glittering  eye  ;  but  it  was  followed   by  the 


.352  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

:short  laugh  and  habitual  grin.  No  !  the  ear  that  has 
aiever  heard  anything  but  abuse  is  strangely  incred- 
ulous of  anything  so  heavenly  as  kindness ;  and 
Topsy  only  thought  Eva's  speech  something  funny 
and  inexplicable, — she  did  not  believe  it. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  with  Topsy?  Miss 
Ophelia  found  the  case  a  puzzler  ;  her  rules  for  bring- 
ing up  did  n't  seem  to  apply.  She  thought  she 
would  take  time  to  think  of  it ;  and,  by  the  way  of 
gaining  time,  and  in  hopes  of  some  indefinite  moral 
virtues  supposed  to  be  inherent  in  dark  closets, 
Miss  Ophelia  shut  Topsy  up  in  one  till  she  had 
arranged  her  ideas  further  on  the  subject. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Miss  Ophelia  to  St.  Clare, 
"  how  I  'm  going  to  manage  that  child  without  whip- 
ping her." 

"  Well,  whip  her,  then,  to  your  heart's  content ; 
I  '11  give  you  full  power  to  do  what  you  like." 

"  Children  always  have  to  be  whipped,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia ;  "  I  never  heard  of  bringing  them  up  with- 
out." 

"  O,  well,  certainly,"  said  St.  Clare  ;  "  do  as  you 
think  best.  Only  I  '11  make  one  suggestion  :  I  've 
seen  this  child  whipped  with  a  poker,  knocked  down 
with  the  shovel  or  tongs,  whichever  came  handiest, 
&c;  and,  seeing  that  she  is  used  to  that  style  of 
operation,  I  think  your  whippings  will  have  to  be 
pretty  energetic,  to  make  much  impression." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  with  her,  then  ?  "  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  You  have  started  a  serious  question,"  said  St. 
Clare  ;  "  I  wish  you  'd  answer  it.  What  is  to  be 
done  with  a  human  being  that  can  be  governed  only 
by  the  lash, — that  fails, — it  's  a  vdry  common  state 
of  things  down  here  !  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  353 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  saw  such  a 
child  as  this." 

"  Such  children  are  very  common  among  us,  and 
such  men  and  women,  too.  How  are  they  to  be 
governed  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  I  'm  sure  it  's  more  than  I  can  say,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  Or  I  either,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  The  horrid  cruel- 
ties and  outrages  that  once  and  a  while  find  their 
way  into  the  papers, — such  cases  as  Prue's,  for  ex- 
ample,— what  do  they  come  from  ?  In  many  cases, 
it  is  a  gradual  hardening  process  on  both  sides, — 
the  owner  growing  more  and  more  cruel,  as  the  serv- 
ant more  and  more  callous.  Whipping  and  abuse 
are  like  laudanum  ;  you  have  to  double  the  dose  as 
the  sensibilities  decline.  I  saw  this  very  early 
when  I  became  an  owner;  and  I  resolved  never  to 
begin,  because  I  did  not  know  when  I  should  stop, 
— and  I  resolved,  at  least,  to  protect  my  own  moral 
nature.  The  consequence  is,  that  my  servants  act 
like  spoiled  children  ;  but  I  think  that  better  than 
for  us  both  to  be  brutalized  together.  You  have 
talked  a  great  deal  about  our  responsibilities  in 
educating,  Cousin.  I  really  wanted  you  to  try  with 
one  child,  who  is  a  specimen  of  thousands  among 
us." 

"  It  is  your  system  makes  such  children,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia. 

"  I  know  it ;  but  they  are  made, — they  exist, — and 
what  is  to  be  done  with  them  ? " 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  I  thank  you  for  the  experi- 
ment. But,  then,  as  it  appears  to  be  a  duty,  I  shall 
persevere  and  try,  and  do  the  best  I  can,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia ;  and  Miss  Ophelia,  after  this,  did  labor, 
with  a  commendable  degree  of  zeal   and  energy,  on 


354  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

her  new  subject.  She  instituted  regular  hours  and 
employments  for  her,  and  undertook  to  teach  her  to 
read  and  to  sew. 

In  the  former  art,  the  child  was  quick  enough. 
She  learned  her  letters  as  if  by  magic,  and  was  very 
soon  able  to  read  plain  reading  ;  but  the  sewing  was 
a  more  difficult  matter.  The  creature  was  as  lithe 
as  a  cat,  and  as  active  as  a  monkey,  and  the  con- 
finement of  sewing  was  her  abomination  ;  so  she 
broke  her  needles,  threw  them  slyly  out  of  windows, 
or  down  in  chinks  of  the  walls  ;  she  tangled,  broke, 
and  dirtied  her  thread,  or,  with  a  sly  movement, 
would  throw  a  spool  away  altogether.  Her  motions 
were  almost  as  quick  as  those  of  a  practised  con- 
jurer, and  her  command  of  her  face  quite  as  great ; 
and  though  Miss  Ophelia  could  not  help  feeling 
that  so  many  accidents  could  not  possibly  happen 
in  succession,  yet  she  could  not,  without  a  watch- 
fulness which  would  leave  her  no  time  for  anything 
else,  detect  her. 

Topsy  was  soon  a  noted  character  in  the  estab- 
lishment. Her  talent  for  every  species  of  drollery, 
grimace,  and  mimicry, — for  dancing,  tumbling, 
climbing,  singing,  whistling,  imitating  every  sound 
that  hit  her  fancy, — seemed  inexhaustible.  In  her 
play-hours,  she  invariably  had  every  child  in  the  es- 
tablishment at  her  heels,  open-mouthed  with  admira- 
tion and  wonder, — not  excepting  Miss  Eva,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  fascinated  by  her  wild  diablerie,  as  a 
dove  is  sometimes  charmed  by  a  glittering  serpent. 
Miss  Ophelia  was  uneasy  that  Eva  should  fancy 
Topsy's  society  so  much,  and  implored  St.  Clare  to 
forbid  it. 

"Poh!  let  the  child  alone,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  Topsy  will  do  her  good." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  355 

"  But  so  depraved  a  child, — are  you  not  afraid, 
she  will  teach  her  some  mischief  ?  " 

"  She  can't  teach  her  mischief  ;  she  might  teach 
it  to  some  children,  but  evil  rolls  off  Eva's  mind  like: 
dew  off  a  cabbage-leaf, — not  a  drop  sinks  in." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  I 
know  I  'd  never  let  a  child  of  mine  play  witlx 
Topsy." 

"  Well,  your  children  need  n't,"  said  St.  Clarer 
"but  mine  may  ;  if  Eva  could  have  been  spoiled,  it- 
would  have  been  done  years  ago." 

Topsy  was  at  first  despised  and  contemned  by 
the  upper  servants.  They  soon  found  reason  to- 
alter  their  opinion.  It  was  very  soon  discovered 
that  whoever  cast  an  indignity  on  Topsy  was  sure 
to  meet  with  some  inconvenient  accident  shortly 
after  ; — either  a  pair  of  ear-rings  or  some  cherished 
trinket  would  be  missing,  or  an  article  of  dress 
would  be  suddenly  found  utterly  ruined,  or  the  per- 
son would  stumble  accidentally  into  a-  pail  of  hot 
water,  or  a  libation  of  dirty  slop  would  unaccount- 
ably deluge  them  from  above  when  in  full  gala, 
dress ; — and  on  all  these  occasions,  when  investi- 
gation was  made,  there  was  nobody  found  to  stand 
sponsor  for  the  indignity.  Topsy  was  cited,  and 
had  up  before  all  the  domestic  judicatories,  time 
and  again  ;  but  always  sustained  her  examinations 
writh  most  edifying  innocence  and  gravity  of  appear- 
ance. Nobody  in  the  world  ever  doubted  who  did 
the  things  ;  but  not  a  scrap  of  any  direct  evidence 
could  be  found  to  establish  the  suppositions,  and 
Miss  Ophelia  was  too  just  to  feel  at  liberty  to  pro- 
ceed to  any  lengths  without  it. 

The  mischiefs  done  were  always  so  nicely  timed, 
also,  as  further  to  shelter  the  aggressor.     Thus,  the 


356  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

times  for  revenge  on  Rosa  and  Jane,  the  two  cham- 
ber-maids, were  always  chosen  in  those  seasons 
■when  (as  not  unfrequently  happened)  they  were  in 
disgrace  with  their  mistress,  when  any  complaint 
from  them  would  of  course  meet  with  no  sympathy. 
In  short,  Topsy  soon  made  the  household  under- 
stand the  propriety  of  letting  her  alone ;  and  she 
was  let  alone,  accordingly. 

Topsy  was  smart  and  energetic  in  all  manual 
operations,  learning  everything  that  was  taught  her 
-with  surprising  quickness.  With  a  few  lessons,  she 
had  learned  to  do  the  proprieties  of  Miss  Ophelia's 
chamber  in  a  way  with  which  even  that  particular 
lady  could  find  no  fault.  Mortal  hands  could  not 
lay  spread  smoother,  adjust  pillows  more  accurately, 
sweep  and  dust  and  arrange  more  perfectly,  than 
Topsy,  when  she  chose, — but  she  did  n't  very  often 
choose.  If  Miss  Ophelia,  after  three  or  four  days 
of  careful  and  patient  supervision,  was  so  sanguine 
as  to  suppose  that  Topsy  had  at  last  fallen  into  her 
■way,  could  do  without  overlooking,  and  so  go  off  and 
busy  herself  about  something  else,  Topsy  would  hold 
a  perfect  carnival  of  confusion,  for  some  one  or  two 
hours.  Instead  of  making  the  bed,  she  would  amuse 
herself  with  pulling  off  the  pillow-cases,  butting  her 
woolly  head  among  the  pillows,  till  it  would  some- 
times be  grotesquely  ornamented  with  feathers 
sticking  out  in  various  directions  ;  she  would  climb 
the  posts,  and  hang  head  downward  from  the  tops  ; 
flourish  the  sheets  and  spreads  all  over  the  apart- 
ment ;  dress  the  bolster  up  in  Miss  Ophelia's  night- 
clothes,  and  enact  various  scenic  performances  with 
that, — singing  and  whistling,  and  making  grimaces 
at  herself  in  the  looking-glass  ;  in  short,  as  Miss 
-Ophelia  phrased  it,  "raising  Cain  "  generally. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  .  357 

On  one  occasion,  Miss  Ophelia  found  Topsy  with 
her  very  best  scarlet  India  Canton  crape  shawl 
wound  round  her  head  for  a  turban,  going  on  with 
lier  rehearsals  before  the  glass  in  great  style, — Miss 
Ophelia  having,  with  carelessness  most  unheard-of 
in  her,  left  the  key  for  once  in  her  drawer. 

"  Topsy  !  "  she  would  say,  when  at  the  end  of  all 
patience,  "  what  does  make  you  act  so  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  Missis, — I  spects  cause  I 's  so  wicked  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  what  I  shall  do  with  you, 
Topsy." 

"  Law,  Missis,  you  must  whip  me  ;  my  old  Missis 
allers  whipped  me.  I  an't  used  to  workin'  unless 
I  gets  whipped." 

"  Why,  Topsy,  I  don't  want  to  whip  you.  You 
can  do  well,  if  you  've  a  mind  to  ;  what  is  the  reason 
you  won't  ?  " 

"  Laws,  Missis,  I 's  used  to  whippin'  ;  I  spects  it 's 
good  for  me." 

Miss  Ophelia  tried  the  recipe,  and  Topsy  invari- 
ably made  a  terrible  commotion,  screaming,  groan- 
ing and  imploring,  though  half  an  hour  afterwards, 
when  roosted  on  some  projection  of  the  balcony, 
and  surrounded  by  a  flock  of  admiring  "  young  uns," 
she  would  express  the  utmost  contempt  of  the  whole 
affair. 

"  Law,  Miss  Feely  whip  ! — would  n't  kill  a  skeeter, 
her  whippins.  Oughter  see  how  old  Mas'r  made  the 
flesh  fly  ;  old  Mas'r  know'd  how  !  " 

Topsy  always  made  great  capital  of  her  own  sins 
and  enormities,  evidently  considering  them  as  some- 
thing peculiarly  distinguishing. 

"  Law,  you  niggers,"  she  would  say  to  some  of 
her  auditors,  "does  you  know  you  's  all  sinners  ? 
Well,  you  is — everybody  is.     WThite  folks  is  sinners 


358  .  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

too, — Miss  Feely  says  so ;  but  I  spects  niggers  is 
the  biggest  ones  ;  but  lor  !  ye  an't  any  on  ye  up  to 
me.  I 's  so  awful  wicked  there  can't  nobody  do 
nothin'  with  me.  I  used  to  keep  old  Missis  a 
swarin'  at  me  half  de  time.  I  spects  I 's  the  wicked- 
est critter  in  the  world ;"  and  Topsy  would  cut  a 
summerset,  and  come  up  brisk  and  shining  on  to  a 
higher  perch,  and  evidently  plume  herself  on  the 
distinction. 

Miss  Ophelia  busied  herself  very  earnestly  on 
Sundays,  teaching  Topsy  the  catechism.  Topsy  had 
an  uncommon  verbal  memory,  and  committed  with 
a  fluency  that  greatly  encouraged  her  instructress. 

"  What  good  do  you  expect  it  is  going  to  do  her  ? " 
said  St.  Clare. 

"Why,  it  always  has  done  children  good.  It  's 
what  children  always  have  to  learn,  you  know,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Understand  it  or  not,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  O,  children  never  understand  it  at  the  time ; 
but,  after  they  are  grown  up,  it  '11  come  to  them." 

"Mine  has  n't  come  to  me  yet,"  said  St.  Clare, 
"though  I  '11  bear  testimony  that  you  put  it  into  me 
pretty  thoroughly  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Ah,  you  were  always  good  at  learning,  Augustine. 
I  used  to  have  great  hopes  of  you,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Well,  have  n't  you  now  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  I  wish  you  were  as  good  as  you  were  when  you 
were  a  boy,  Augustine." 

"  So  do  I,  that 's  a  fact,  Cousin,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  Well,  go  ahead  and  catechize  Topsy ;  may  be 
you  '11  make  out  something  yet." 

Topsy,  who  had  stood  like  a  black  statue  during 
this  discussion,  with  hands  decently  folded,  now,  at 
a  signal  from  Miss  Ophelia,  went  on : 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  359 

"  Our  first  parents,  being  left  to  the  freedom  of 
their  own  will,  fell  from  the  state  wherein  they  were 
created." 

Topsy's  eyes  twinkled,  and  she  looked  inquir- 
ingly. 

"What  is  it,  Topsy  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Please,  Missis,  was  dat  ar  state  Kintuck  ?  " 

"  What  state,  Topsy  ?  " 

"  Dat  state  dey  fell  out  of.  I  used  to  hear  Mas'r 
tell  how  we  came  down  from  Kintuck." 

St.  Clare  laughed. 

"  You  '11  have  to  give  her  a  meaning,  or  she  '11 
make  one,"  said  he.  "  There  seems  to  be  a  theory 
of  emigration  suggested  there." 

"  O  !  Augustine,  be  still,"  said  Miss  Ophelia ; 
':  how  can  I  do  anything,  if  you  will  be  laughing  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  won't  disturb  the  exercises  again,  on  my 
honor  ;"  and  St.  Clare  took  his  paper  into  the  parlor, 
and  sat  down,  till  Topsy  had  finished  her  recitations. 
They  were  all  very  well,  only  that  now  and  then  she 
Would  oddly  transpose  some  important  words,  and 
persist  in  the  mistake,  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  the 
contrary ;  and  St.  Clare,  after  all  his  promises  of 
goodness,  took  a  wicked  pleasure  in  these  mistakes, 
calling  Topsy  to  him  whenever  he  had  a  mind  to 
amuse  himself,  and  getting  her  to  repeat  the  offend- 
ing passages,  in  spite  of  Miss  Ophelia's  remon- 
strances. 

"  How  do  you  think  I  can  do  anything  with  the 
child,  if  you  will  go  on  so,  Augustine  ?  "  she  would 
say. 

"Well,  it  is  too  bad, — I  won't  again  ;  but  I  do 
like  to  hear  the  droll  little  image  stumble  over  those 
big  words  !  " 

"  But  you  confirm  her  in  the  wrong  way." 


360  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  What  's  the  odds  ?  One  word  is  as  good  as  an- 
other to  her." 

"  You  wanted  me  to  bring  her  up  right ;  and  you 
ought  to  remember  she  is  a  reasonable  creature,  and 
be  careful  of  your  influence  over  her." 

"  O,  dismal  !  so  I  ought ;  but,  as  Topsy  herself 
says,  '  I  's  so  wicked  ! '  " 

In  very  much  this  way  Topsy's  training  proceeded, 
for  a  year  or  two, — Miss  Ophelia  worrying  herself, 
from  day  to  day.  with  her,  as  a  kind  of  chronic 
plague,  to  whose  inflictions  she  became,  in  time,  as 
acccustomed,  as  persons  sometimes  do  to  the  neu- 
ralgia or  sick  headache. 

St.  Clare  took  the  same  kind  of  amusement  in  the 
child  that  a  man  might  in  the  tricks  of  a  parrot  or 
a  pointer.  Topsy,  whenever  her  sins  brought  her 
into  disgrace  in  other  quarters,  always  took  refuge 
behind  his  chair  ;  and  St.  Clare,  in  one  way  or 
other,  would  make  peace  for  her.  From  him  she 
got  many  a  stray  picayune,  which  she  laid  out  in 
nuts  and  candies,  and  distributed,  with  careless 
generosity,  to  all  the  children  in  the  family;  for 
Topsy,  to  do  her  justice,  was  good-natured  and 
liberal,  and  only  spiteful  in  self-defence.  She  is 
fairly  introduced  into  our  corps  de  ballet,  and  will 
figure,  from  time  to  time,  in  her  turn,  with  other 
performers. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

KENTUCK. 

Our  readers  may  not  be  unwilling  to  glance  back, 
for  a  brief  interval,  at  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  on  the 
Kentucky  farm,  and  see  what  has  been  transpiring 
among:  those  whom  he  had  left  behind. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  36 1 

It  was  late  in  the  summer  afternoon,  and  the 
doors  and  windows  of  the  large  parlor  all  stood  open,, 
to  invite  any  stray  breeze,  that  might  feel  in  a  good 
humor,  to  enter.  Mr.  Shelby  sat  in  a  large  hall 
opening  into  the  room,  and  running  through  the 
whole  length  of  the  house,  to  a  balcony  On  either 
end.  Leisurely  tipped  back  in  one  chair,  with  his 
heels  in  another,  he  was  enjoying  his  after-dinner 
cigar.  Mrs.  Shelby  sat  in  the  door,  busy  about 
some  fine  sewing  ;  she  seemed  like  one  who  had 
something  on  her  mind,  which  she  was  seeking  an 
opportunity  to  introduce. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  Chloe  has  had 
a  letter  from  Tom  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  has  she  ?  Tom  's  got  some  friend  there,  it 
seems.     How  is  the  old  boy  ? " 

"  He  has  been  bought  by  a  very  fine  family,  I 
should  think,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby, — "  is  kindly  treated, 
and  has  not  much  to  do." 

"  Ah  !  well,  I  'm  glad  of  it, — very  glad,"  said  Mr. 
Shelby,  heartily.  "  Tom,  I  suppose,  will  get  recon- 
ciled to  a  Southern  residence ; — hardly  want  to  come 
up  here  again." 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  inquires  very  anxiously," 
said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "  when  the  money  for  his  redemp- 
tion is  to  be  raised." 

"  I  'm  sure  /  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 
"  Once  get  business  running  wrong,  there  does  seem 
to  be  no  end  to  it.  It 's  like  jumping  from  one  bog 
to  another,  all  through  a  swamp ;  borrow  of  one  to 
pay  another,  and  then  borrow  of  another  to  pay  one, 
— and  these  confounded  notes  falling  due  before  a 
man  has  time  to  smoke  a  cigar  and  turn  round, — 
dunning  letters  and  dunning  messages, — all  scamper 
and  hurry-scurry." 


362  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  It  does  seem  to  me,  my  dear,  that  something 
might  be  done  to  straighten  matters.  Suppose  we 
.sell  off  all  the  horses,  and  sell  one  of  your  farms, 
and  pay  up  square  ?  " 

"  O,  ridiculous,  Emily !  You  are  the  finest 
woman  in  Kentucky ;  but  still  you  have  n't  sense  to 
know  that  you  don't  understand  business  ; — women 
never  do,  and  never  can." 

"  But,  at  least,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "  could  not  you 
give  me  some  little  insight  into  yours  ;  a  list  of  all 
jour  debts,  at  least,  and  of  all  that  is  owed  to  you, 
and  let  me'  try  and  see  if  I  can't  help  you  to 
-economize." 

"  O,  bother!  don't  plague  me,  Emily! — I  can't 
tell  exactly. — I  know  somewhere  about  what  things 
are  likely  to  be  ;  but  there 's  no  trimming  and  squar- 
ing my  affairs,  as  Chloe  trims  crust  off  her  pies. 
You  don't  know  anything  about  business,  I  tell 
you." 

And  Mr.  Shelby,  not  knowing  any  other  way  of 
enforcing  his  ideas,  raised  his  voice, — a  mode  of 
arguing  very  convenient  and  convincing,  when  a 
gentleman  is  discussing  matters  of  business  with  his 
wife. 

Mrs.  Shelby  ceased  talking,  with  something  of  a 
.sigh.  The  fact  was,  that  though  her  husband  had 
stated  she  was  a  woman,  she  had  a  clear,  energetic, 
practical  mind,  and  a  force  of  character  every  way 
superior  to  that  of  her  husband  ;  so  that  it  would 
not  have  been  so  very  absurd  a  supposition,  to  have 
allowed  her  capable  of  managing,  as  Mr.  Shelby  sup- 
posed. Her  heart  was  set  on  performing  her  promise 
to  Tom  and  Aunt  Chloe,  and  she  sighed  as  dis- 
couragements thickened  around  her. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  might  in  some  way  contrive 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  $6$ 

to  raise  that  money  ?  Poor  Aunt  Chloe  !  her  heart 
is  so  set  on  it !  " 

"  I  'm  sorry,  if  it  is.  I  think  I  was  premature  in 
promising.  I  'm  not  sure,  now,  but  it 's  the  best  way 
to  tell  Chloe,  and  let  her  make  up  her  mind  to  it. 
Tom  '11  have  another  wife,  in  a  year  or  two  ;  and 
she  had  better  take  up  with  somebody  else." 

"  Mr.  Shelby,  I  have  taught  my  people  that  their 
marriages  are  as  sacred  as  ours.  I  never  could 
think  of  giving  Chloe  such  advice." 

"  It 's  a  pity,  wife,  that  you  have  burdened  them 
with  a  morality  above  their  condition  and  prospects. 
I  always  thought  so." 

"  It 's  only  the  morality  of  the  Bible,  Mr.  Shelby." 

"  Well,  well,  Emily,  I  don't  pretend  to  interfere 
with  your  religious  notions  ;  only  they  seem  extremely 
unfitted  for  people  in  that  condition." 

"  They  are,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "  and  that 
is  why,  from  my  soul,  I  hate  the  whole  thing.  I  tell 
you,  my  dear,  /cannot  absolve  myself  from  the  prom- 
ises I  make  to  these  helpless  creatures.  If  I  can 
get  the  money  no  other  way,  I  will  take  music- 
scholars  ; — I  could  get  enough,  I  know,  and  earn  the 
money  myself." 

"  You  wouldn't  degrade  yourself  that  way,  Emily  ? 
I  never  could  consent  to  it." 

"  Degrade !  would  it  degrade  me  as  much  as  to 
break  my  faith  with  the  helpless  ?     No,  indeed  !  " 

"  Well,  you  are  always  heroic  and  transcendental," 
said  Mr.  Shelby,  "  but  I  think  you  had  better  think 
before  you  undertake  such  a  piece  of  Quixotism." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Aunt  Chloe,  at  the  end  of  the  ver- 
andah. 

"  If  you  please,  Missis,"  said  she. 

25 


364  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

"Well,  Chloe,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  her  mistress,  rising, 
and  going  to  the  end  of  the  balcony. 

"If  Missis  would  come  and  look  at  dis  yer  lot  o* 
poetry." 

Chloe  had  a  particular  fancy  for  calling  poultry 
poetry, — an  application  of  language  in  which  she 
always  persisted,  notwithstanding  frequent  correc- 
tions and  advisings  from  the  young  members  of  the 
family. 

"  La  sakes  !  she  would  say,  "  I  can't  see  ;  one 
jis  good  as  turry, — poetry  suthin  good,  any  how  ;  " 
and  so  poetry  Chloe  continued  to  call  it. 

Mrs.  Shelby  smiled  as  she  saw  a  prostrate  lot  of 
chickens  and  ducks,  over  which  Chloe  stood,  with  a 
very  grave  face  of  consideration. 

"  I  'm  a  thinkin  whether  Missis  would  be  a  havin 
a  chicken  pie  o'  dese  yer." 

"  Really,  Aunt  Chloe,  I  don't  much  care  ; — serve 
them  any  way  you  like." 

Chloe  stood  handling  them  over  abstractedly ;  it 
was  quite  evident  that  the  chickens  were  not  what 
she  was  thinking  of.  At  last,  with  the  short  laugh 
with  which  her  tribe  often  introduce  a  doubtful  pro- 
posal, she  said, 

"  Laws  me,  Missis  !  what  should  Mas'r  and  Missis 
be  a  troublin  theirselves  'bout  de  money,  and  not  a 
usin  what's  right  in  der  hands  ?  and  Chloe  laughed 
again. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Chloe,"  said  Mrs. 
Shelby,  nothing  doubting,  from  her  knowledge  of 
Chloe's  manner,  that  she  had  heard  every  word  of  the 
conversation  that  had  passed  between  her  and  her 
husband. 

"  Why,  laws  me,  Missis  !  "  said  Chloe,  laughing 
again,  "  other  folks  hires  out  der  niggers  and  makes 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  365" 

money  on  'em  !  Don't  keep  sich  a  tribe  eatin'  'em 
out  of  house  and  home." 

"  Well,  Chloe,  who  do  you  propose  that  we  should 
hire  out  ? " 

"  Laws  !  I  an't  a  proposin  nothin  ;  only  Sam  he 

said  der  was  one  of  dese  yer  perfectioners,  dey  calls* 

i  'em,  in  Louisville,  said  he  wanted  a  good  hand  at 

1  cake  and  pastry  ;  and   said  he'd  give  four  dollars  a 

week  to  one,  he  did." 

"  Well,  Chloe." 

"  Well,  laws,  I'sa  thinkin,  Missis,  it  's  time  Sally 
was  put  along  to  be  doin'  something.  Sally 's  been 
under  my  care,  now,  dis  some  time,  and  she  does 
most  as  well  as  me,  considerin  ;  and  if  Missis  would 
only  let  me  go,  I  would  help  fetch  up  de  money.  I 
an't  afraid  to  put  my  cake,  nor  pies  nother,  'long 
side  no  perfectioners. ' ' 

"  Confectioner's,  Oiloe." 

"  Law  sakes,  Missis  !  't  an't  no  odds  ; — words  is 
so  curis,  can't  never  get  'em  right !  " 

"  But,  Chloe,  do  you  want  to  leave  your  chil- 
dren ? " 

"  Laws,  Missis  !  de  boys  is  big  enough  to  do  day's 
j  works  ;  dey  does  well  enough  ;  and  Sally,  she  '11  take 
de  baby, — she  's  such  a  peart  young  un,  she  won't 
take  no  lookin  arter." 

"  Louisville  is  a  good  way  off." 

"  Law  sakes  !  who  's  afeard  ? — it  's  down  river, 
somer  near  my  old  man,  perhaps  ?  "  said  Chloe, 
speaking  the  last  in  the  tone  of  a  question,  and 
looking  at  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"  No,  Chloe  ;  it  's  many  a  hundred  miles  off," 
said  Mrs.  Shelby. 

Chloe's  countenance  fell. 

"  Never  mind  ;  your  going  there  shall  bring  you 


366  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 

nearer,  Chloe.  Yes,  you  may  go  ;  and  your  wages 
shall  every  cent  of  them  be  laid  aside  for  your  hus- 
band's redemption." 

As  when  a  bright  sunbeam  turns  a  dark  cloud  to 
silver,  so  Chloe's  dark  face  brightened  immediately, 
— it  really  shone. 

"  Laws  !  if  Missis  is  n't  too  good  !  I  was  think- 
ing of  dat  ar  very  thing  ;  cause  I  should  n't  need  no 
clothes,  nor  shoes,  nor  nothin, — I  could  save  every 
cent.     How  many  weeks  is  der  in  a  year,  Missis  ?  " 

"Fifty-two,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"  Laws  !  now,  dere  is  ?  and  four  dollars  for  each 
on  'em.     Why,  how  much  'd  dat  ar  be  ? " 

"  Two  hundred  and  eight  dollars,"  said  Mrs. 
Shelby. 

"  Why-e  !  "  said  Chloe,  with  an  accent  of  surprise 
and  delight ;  "  and  how  long  would  it  take  me  to 
work  it  out,  Missis  ?  " 

"  Some  four  or  five  years,  Chloe  ;  but,  then,  you 
need  n't  do  it  all, — I  shall  add  something  to  it." 

"  I  would  n't  hear  to  Missis'  givin  lessons  nor 
nothin.  Mas'r's  quite  right  in  dat  ar  ; — 't  would  n't 
do,  no  ways.  I  hope  none  our  family  ever  be 
brought  to  dat  ar,  while  I  's  got  hands." 

"  Don't  fear,  Chloe  ;  I  '11  take  care  of  the  honor 
of  the  family,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  smiling.  "  But 
when  do  you  expect  to  go  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  want  spectin  nothin ;  only  Sam,  he  's  a 
gwine  to  de  river  with  some  colts,  and  he  said  I 
could  go  long  with  him ;  so  I  jes  put  my  things  to- 
gether. If  Missis  was  willin,  I  'd  go  with  Sam  to- 
morrow morning,  if  Missis  would  write  my  pass, 
and  write  me  a  commendation." 

"Well,  Chloe,  I  '11  attend  to  it,  if  Mr.  Shelby  has 
no  objections.     I  must  speak  to  him." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  367 

Mrs.  Shelby  went  upstairs,  and  Aunt  Chloe, 
delighted,  went  out  to  her  cabin,  to  make  her  prep- 
aration. 

"  Law  sakes,  Mas'r  George  !  ye  did  n't  know  I  's 
a  gwine  to  Louisville  to-morrow !  "  she  said  to 
George,  as,  entering  her  cabin,  he  found  her  busy 
in  sorting  over  her  baby's  clothes.  "  I  thought  I  'd 
jis  look  over  sis's  things,  and  get  'em  straightened 
up.  But  I  'm  gwine,  Mas'r  George, — gwine  to  have 
four  dollars  a  week  ;  and  Missis  is  gwine  to  lay  it 
all  up,  to  buy  back  my  old  man  agin  !  " 

"  Whew ! "  said  George,  "  here  's  a  stroke  of 
business,  to  be  sure  !     How  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  wid  Sam.  And  now,  Mas'r  George, 
I  knows  you  '11  jis  sit  down  and  write  to  my  old 
man,  and  tell  him  all  about  it, — won't  ye  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  George;  "Uncle  Tom '11  be 
right  glad  to  hear  from  us.  I  '11  go  right  in  the 
house,  for  paper  and  ink ;  and  then,  you  know, 
Aunt  Chloe,  I  can  tell  about  the  new  colts  and  all." 

"  Sartin,  sartin,  Mas'r  George  ;  you  go  'long,  and 
I  '11  get  ye  up  a  bit  o'  chicken,  or  some  sich  ;  ye 
won't  have  many  more  suppers  wid  yer  poor  old 
aunty." 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  THE  GRASS  WITHERETH THE  FLOWER  FADETH." 

Life  passes,  with  us  all,  a  day  at  a  time  ;  so  it 
passed  with  our  friend  Tom,  till  two  years  were 
gone.  Though  parted  from  ail  his  soul  held  dear, 
and  though  often  yearning  for  what  lay  beyond,  still 
was  he  never  positively  and  consciously  miserable ; 
for,  so  well  is  the  harp  of  human  feeling  strung,  that 
nothing  but  a  crash  that  breaks  every  string  can  wholly 


368  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 

mar  its  harmony ;  and,  on  looking  back  to  seasons 
which  in  review  appear  to  us  as  those  of  deprivation 
and  trial,  we  can  remember  that  each  hour,  as  it 
glided,  brought  its  diversions  and  alleviations,  so 
that,  though  not  happy  wholly,  we  were  not,  either, 
wholly  miserable. 

Tom  read,  in  his  only  literary  cabinet,  of  one  who 
had  "  learned  in  whatsoever  state  he  was,  therewith 
to  be  content."  It  seemed  to  him  good  and  reason- 
able doctrine,  and  accorded  well  with  the  settled 
and  thoughtful  habit  which  he  had  acquired  from 
the  reading  of  that  same  book. 

His  letter  homeward,  as  we  related  in  the  last 
chapter,  was  in  due  time  answered  by  Master 
George,  in  a  good,  round,  school-boy  hand,  that 
Tom  said  might  be  read  "most  acrost  the  room." 
It  contained  various  refreshing  items  of  home  in- 
telligence, with  which  our  reader  is  fully  acquainted  : 
stated  how  Aunt  Chloe  had  been  hired  out  to  a 
•confectioner  in  Louisville,  where  her  skill  in  the 
pastry  line  was  gaining  wonderful  sums  of  money, 
all  of  which,  Tom  was  informed,  was  to  be  laid  up 
to  go  to  make  up  the  sum  of  his  redemption  money ; 
Mose  and  Pete  were  thriving  and  the  baby  was 
trotting  all  about  the  house,  under  the  care  of  Sally 
and  the  family  generally. 

Tom's  cabin  was  shut  up  for  the  present ;  but 
George  expatiated  brilliantly  on  ornaments  and 
additions  to  be  made  to  it  when  Tom  came  back. 

The  rest  of  this  letter  gave  a  list  of  George's 
school  studies,  each  one  headed  by  a  flourishing 
capital ;  and  also  told  the  names  of  four  new  colts 
that  appeared  on  the  premises  since  Tom  left ;  and 
stated,  in  the  same  connection,  that  father  and 
mother  were  well.     The  style  of  the  letter  was  de- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  369 

cidedly  concise  and  terse  ;  but  Tom  thought  it  the 
most  wonderful  specimen  of  composition  that  had 
appeared  in  modern  times.  He  was  never  tired  of 
looking  at  it,  and  even  held  a  council  with  Eva  on  the 
expediency  of  getting  it  framed,  to  hang  up  in  his 
room.  Nothing  but  the  difficulty  of  arranging  it  so 
that  both  sides  of  the  page  would  show  at  once 
stood  in  the  way  of  this  undertaking. 

The  friendship  between  Tom  and  Eva  had  grown 
with  the  child's  growth.  It  would  be  hard  to  say 
what  place  she  held  in  the  soft,  impressible  heart  of 
her  faithful  attendant.  He  loved  her  as  something 
frail  and  earthly,  yet  almost  worshipped  her  as 
something  heavenly  and  divine.  He  gazed  on  her 
as  the  Italian  sailor  gazes  on  his  image  of  the  child 
Jesus, — with  a  mixture  of  reverence  and  tenderness  ; 
and  to  humor  her  graceful  fancies,  and  meet  those 
thousand  simple  wants  which  invest  childhood  like 
a  many-colored  rainbow,  was  Tom's  chief  delight. 
In  the  market,  at  morning,  his  eyes  were  always  on 
the  flower  stalls  for  rare  bouquets  for  her,  and  the 
choicest  peach  or  orange  was  slipped  into  his  pocket 
to  give  to  her  when  he  came  back ;  and  the  sight 
that  pleased  him  most  was  her  sunny  head  looking 
out  the  gate  for  his  distant  approach,  and  her 
childish  question, — "  Well,  Uncle  Tom,  what  have 
you  got  for  me  to-day  ?  " 

Nor  was  Eva  less  zealous  in  kind  offices,  in  return. 
Though  a  child,  she  was  a  beautiful  reader  ; — a  fine 
musical  ear,  a  quick  poetic  fancy,  and  an  instinctive 
sympathy  with  what  is  grand  and  noble,  made  her 
such  a  reader  of  the  Bible  as  Tom  had  never  before 
heard.  At  first,  she  read  to  please  her  humble 
friend  ;  but  soon  her  own  earnest  nature  threw  out  its 
tendrils,  and  wound  itself  around  the  majestic  book ; 


37°  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

and  Eva  loved  it,  because  it  woke  in  her  strange 
yearnings,  and  strong,  dim  emotions,  such  as  impas- 
sioned, imaginative  children  love  to  feel. 

The  parts  that  pleased  her  most  were  the  Revela- 
tions and  the  Prophecies, — parts  whose  dim  and  won- 
drous imagery,  and  fervent  language,  impressed  her 
the  more,  that  she  questioned  vainly  of  their  mean- 
ing ;• — and  she  and  her  simple  friend,  the  old  child 
and  the  young  one,  felt  just  alike  about  it.  All  that 
they  knew  was,  that  they  spoke  of  a  glory  to  be 
revealed, — a  wondrous  something  yet  to  come  where- 
in their  soul  rejoiced,  yet  knew  not  why ;  and  though  it 
be  not  so  in  the  physical,  yet  in  moral  science  that 
which  cannot  be  understood  is  not  always  profitless. 
For  the  soul  awakes,  a  trembling  stranger,  between 
two  dim  eternities, — the  eternal  past,  the  eternal 
future.  The  light  shines  only  on  a  small  space 
around  her  ;  therefore,  she  needs  must  yearn  towards 
the  unknown  ;  and  the  voices  and  shadowy  movings 
which  come  to  her  from  out  the  cloudy  pillar  of 
inspiration  have  each  one  echoes  and  answers  in 
her  own  expecting  nature.  Its  mystic  imagery  are 
so  many  talismans  and  gems  inscribed  with  unknown 
hieroglyphics ;  she  folds  them  in  her  bosom,  and 
expects  to  read  them  when  she  passes  beyond  the 
veil. 

At  this  time  in  our  story,  the  whole  St.  Clare  es- 
tablishment is,  for  the  time  being,  removed  to  their 
villa  on  Lake  Pontchartrain.  The  heats  of  summer 
had  driven  all  who  were  able  to  leave  the  sultry  and 
unhealthy  city,  to  seek  the  shores  of  the  lake,  and 
its  cool  sea-breezes. 

St.  Clare's  villa  was  an  East  Indian  cottage,  sur- 
rounded by  light  verandahs  of  bamboo-work,  and 
opening   on   all  sides  into  gardens    and   pleasure- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  37 1 

grounds.  The  common  sitting-room  opened  on  to 
a  large  garden,  fragrant  with  every  picturesque 
plant  and  flower  of  the  tropics,  where  winding  paths 
ran  down  to  the  very  shores  of  the  lake,  whose 
silvery  sheet  of  water  lay  there,  rising  and  falling  in 
the  sunbeams, — a  picture  never  for  an  hour  the 
same,  yet  every  hour  more  beautiful. 

It  is  now  one  of  those  intensely  golden  sunsets 
which  kindles  the  whole  horizon  into  one  blaze  of 
glory,  and  makes  the  water  another  sky.  The  lake 
lay  in  rosy  or  golden  streaks,  save  where  white- 
winged  vessels  glided  hither  and  thither,  like  so 
many  spirits,  and  little  golden  stars  twinkled  through 
the  glow,  and  looked  down  at  themselves  as  they 
trembled  in  the  water. 

Tom  and  Eva  were  seated  on  a  little  mossy  seat,, 
in  an  arbor,  at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  It  was  Sun- 
day evening,  and  Eva's  Bible  lay  open  on  her  knee. 
She  read, — "  And  I  saw  a  sea  of  glass,  mingled  with 
fire." 

"  Tom,  said  Eva,  suddenly  stopping,  and  point- 
ing to  the  lake,  "  there  't  is." 

"  What,  Miss  Eva  ? " 

"  Don't  you  see, — there  ?  "  said  the  child,  pointing 
to  the  glassy  water,  which,  as  it  rose  and  fell,  re- 
flected the  golden  glow  of  the  sky.  "  There  's  a 
'  sea  of  glass,  mingled  with  fire.'  " 

"  True  enough,  Miss  Eva,"  said  Tom  ;  and  Tom 
sang — 

"  O,  had  I  the  wings   of  the  morning, 
I  'd  fly  away  to  Canaan's  shore  ; 
Bright  angels  should  convey  me  home, 
To  the  new  Jerusalem." 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  new  Jerusalem  is,  Uncle 
Tom  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  O,  up  in  the  clouds,  Miss  Eva." 


;372  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :   OR, 

"  Then  I  think  I  see  it,"  said  Eva.  "  Look  in 
those  clouds  ! — they  look  like  great  gates  of  pearl ; 
and  you  can  see  beyond  them — far,  far  off — it  's  all 
gold.     Tom,  sing  about  *  spirits  bright.'  ' 

Tom  sung  the  words  of  a  well-known  Methodist 
hymn 

"  I  see  a  band  of  spirits  bright, 
That  taste  the  glories  there ; 
They  all  are  robed  in  spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear." 

"Uncle  Tom,  I  've  seen  them"  said  Eva. 

Tom  had  no  doubt  of  it  at  all ;  it  did  not  sur- 
prise him  in  the  least.  If  Eva  had  told  him  she  had 
been  to  heaven,  he  would  have  thought  it  entirely 
probable. 

"  They  come  to  me  sometimes  in  my  sleep,  those 
spirits ; "  and  Eva's  eyes  grew  dreamy,  and  she 
hummed,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  They  are  all  robed  in  spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear." 

*'  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Eva,  "  I  'm  going  there." 

"Where,  Miss  Eva?" 

The  child  rose,  and  pointed  her  little  hand  to  the 
sky ;  the  glow  of  evening  lit  her  golden  hair  and 
ilushed  cheek  with  a  kind  of  unearthly  radiance,  and 
lier  eyes  were  bent  earnestly  on  the  skies. 

"  I  'm  going  there"  she  said,  " to  the  spirits 
"bright,  Tom  ;  I'm  going,  before  long" 

The  faithful  old  heart  felt  a  sudden  thrust ;  and 
Tom  thought  how  often  he  had  noticed,  within  six 
months,  that  Eva's  little  hands  had  grown  thinner, 
and  her  skin  more  transparent,  and  her  breath 
shorter ;  and  how,  when  she  ran  or  played  in  the 
garden,  as  she  once  could  for  hours,  she  became 
soon    so  tired  and  languid.     He  had  heard  Miss 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  373 

Ophelia  speak  often  of  a  cough,  that  all  her  medica- 
ments could  not  cure  ;  and  even  now  that  fervent 
cheek  and  little  hand  were  burning  with  hectic 
fever  ;  and  yet  the  thought  that  Eva's  words  sug- 
gested had  never  come  to  him  till  now. 

Has  there  ever  been  a  child  like  Eva  ?  Yes, 
there  have  been  •  but  their  names  are  always  on 
grave-stones,  and  their  sweet  smiles,  their  heavenly 
eyes,  their  singular  words  and  ways,  are  among  the 
buried  treasures  of  yearning  hearts.  In  how  many 
families  do  you  hear  the  legend  that  all  the  good- 
ness and  graces  of  the  living  are  nothing  to  the 
peculiar  charms  of  one  who  is  not.  It  is  as  if 
heaven  had  an  especial  band  of  angels,  whose 
office  it  was  to  sojourn  for  a  season  here,  and  en- 
dear to  them  the  wayward  human  heart,  that  they 
might  bear  it  upward  with  them  in  their  homeward 
flight.  When  you  see  that  deep,  spiritual  light  in 
the  eye, — when  the  little  soul  reveals  itself  in  words 
sweeter  and  wiser  than  the  ordinary  words  of 
children, — hope  not  to  retain  that  child  ;  for  the  seal 
of  heaven  is  on  it,  and  the  light  of  immortality  looks 
out  from  its  eyes. 

Even  so,  beloved  Eva  !  fair  star  of  thy  dwelling ! 
Thou  art  passing  away ;  but  they  that  love  thee 
dearest  know  it  not. 

The  colloquy  between  Tom  and  Eva  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  hasty  call  from  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Eva — Eva  ! — why,  child,  the  dew  is  falling  ; 
you  must  n't  be  out  there  !  " 

Eva  and  Tom  hastened  in. 

Miss  Ophelia  was  old,  and  skilled  in  the  tactics 
of  nursing.  She  was  from  New  England,  and  knew 
well  the  first  guileful  footsteps  of  that  soft,  insidious 
disease,  which  sweeps  away  so  many  of  the  fairest 


374  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  I    OR, 

and  loveliest,  and,  before  one  fibre  of  life  seems 
broken,  seals  them  irrevocably  for  death. 

She  had  noted  the  slight,  dry  cough,  the  daily 
brightening  cheek  ;  nor  could  the  lustre  of  the  eye, 
and  the  airy  buoyancy  born  of  fever,  deceive  her. 

She  tried  to  communicate  her  fears  to  St.  Clare  ; 
but  he  threw  back  her  suggestions  with  a  restless 
petulance,  unlike  his  usual  careless  good-humor. 

"  Don't  be  croaking,  Cousin, — I  hate  it ! "  he 
would  say ;  "  don't  you  see  that  the  child  is  only 
growing.  Children  always  lose  strength  when  they 
grow  fast." 

"  But  she  has  that  cough  !  " 

"  O  !  nonsense  of  that  cough  ! — it  is  not  anything. 
She  has  taken  a  little  cold,  perhaps. " 

"  Well,  that  was  just  the  way  Eliza  Jane  was 
taken,  and  Ellen  and  Maria  Sanders." 

"  O  !  stop  these  hobgoblin  nurse  legends.  You 
old  hands  get  so  wise,  that  a  child  cannot  cough,  or 
sneeze,  but  you  see  desperation  and  ruin  at  hand. 
Only  take  care  of  the  child,  keep  her  from  the  night 
air,  and  don't  let  her  play  too  hard,  and  she  '11  do 
well  enough." 

So  St.  Clare  said  ;  but  he  grew  nervous  and  rest- 
less. He  watched  Eva  feverishly  day  by  day,  as 
might  be  told  by  the  frequency  with  which  he  re- 
peated over  that  "the  child  was  quite  well" — that 
there  was  n't  anything  in  that  cough, — it  was  only 
some  little  stomach  affection,  such  as  children  often 
had.  But  he  kept  by  her  more  than  before,  took 
her  oftener  to  ride  with  him,  brought  home  every 
few  days  some  receipt  or  strengthening  mixture, — 
"  not,"  he  said,  "  that  the  child  needed  it,  but  then  it 
would  not  do  her  any  harm." 

If  it  must  be  told,  the  thing  that  struck  a  deeper 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  375 

pang  to  his  heart  than  anything  else  was  the  daily 
increasing  maturity  of  the  child's  mind  and  feelings. 
While  still  retaining  all  a  child's  fanciful  graces,  yet 
she  often  dropped,  unconsciously,  words  of  such  a 
reach  of  thought,  and  strange  unworldly  wisdom,  that 
they  seemed  to  be  an  inspiration.  At  such  times, 
St.  Clare  would  feel  a  sudden  thrill,  and  clasp  her 
in  his  arms,  as  if  that  fond  clasp  could  save  her  ; 
and  his  heart  rose  up  with  wild  determination  to  keep 
her,  never  to  let  her  go. 

The  child's  whole  heart  and  solil  seemed  absorbed 
in  works  of  love  and  kindness.  Impulsively  gener- 
ous she  had  always  been  ;  but  there  was  a  touching 
and  womanly  thoughtfulness  about  her  now,  that 
every  one  noticed.  She  still  loved  to  play  with 
Topsy,  and  the  various  colored  children ;  but  she 
now  seemed  rather  a  spectator  than  an  actor  of  their 
plays,  and  she  would  sit  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time, 
laughing  at  the  odd  tricks  of  Topsy, — and  then  a 
shadow  would  seem  to  pass  across  her  face,  her  eyes 
grew  misty,  and  her  thoughts  were  afar. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  suddenly,  to  her  mother,  one 
day,  "  why  don't  we  teach  our  servants  to  read  ? " 

"What  a  question,  child  !     People  never  do." 

"  Why  don't  they  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  Because  it  is  no  use  for  them  to  read.  It  don't 
help  them  to  work  any  better,  and  they  are  not  made 
for  anything  else." 

"  But  they  ought  to  read  the  Bible,  mamma,  to 
learn  God's  will." 

"  O  !  they  can  get  that  read  to  them  all  they  need." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  mamma,  the  Bible  is  for  every 
one  to  read  themselves.  They  need  it  a  great  many 
times  when  there  is  nobody  to  read  it." 

"  Eva,  you  are  an  odd  child,"  said  her  mother. 


376  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OK, 

"  Miss  Ophelia  has  taught  Topsy  to  read/'  con- 
tinued Eva. 

"  Yes,  and  you  see  how  much  good  it  does.  Topsy 
is  the  worst  creature  I  ever  saw ! " 

"  Here  's  poor  Mammy  ! "  said  Eva.  "  She  does 
love  the  Bible  so  much,  and  wishes  so  she  could  read  ! 
And  what  will  she  do  when  I  can't  read  to  her  ?  " 

Marie  was  busy,  turning  over  the  contents  of  a 
drawer,  as  she  answered, 

"  Well,  of  course,  by  and  by,  Eva,  you  will  have 
other  things  to  think  of,  besides  reading  the  Bible 
round  to  servants.  Not  but  that  is  very  proper  ; 
I  've  done  it  myself,  when  I  had  health.  But  when 
you  come  to  be  dressing  and  going  into  company, 
you  won't  have  time.  See  here  I "  she  added,  "these 
jewels  I  'm  going  to  give  you  when  you  come  out. 
I  wore  them  to  my  first  ball.  I  can  tell  you,  Eva,  I 
made  a  sensation." 

Eva  took  the  jewel-case,  and  lifted  from  it  a 
diamond  necklace.  Her  large,  thoughtful  eyes 
rested  on  them,  but  it  was  plain  her  thoughts  were 
elsewhere. 

"  How  sober  you  look,  child  I  "  said  Marie. 

"  Are  these  worth  a  great  deal  of  money,  mamma  ? " 

"  To  be  sure  they  are.  Father  sent  to  France  for 
them.     They  are  Worth  a  small  fortune." 

"  I  wish  I  had  them,"  said  Eva,  "  to  do  what  I 
pleased  with  !  " 

"  What  would  you  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  I  'd  sell  them,  and  buy  a  place  in  the  free  states, 
and  take  all  our  people  there,  and  hire  teachers,  to 
teach  them  to  read  and  write." 

Eva  was  cut  short  by  her  mother's  laughing. 

"  Set  up  a  boarding-school !  Would  n't  you  teach 
them  to  play  on  the  piano,  and  paint  on  velvet  ?  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  377" 

"  I  'd  teach  them  to  read  their  own  Bible,  and 
write  their  own  letters,  and  read  letters  that  are 
written  to  them,"  said  Eva,  steadily.  "  I  know, 
mamma,  it  does  come  very  hard  on  them,  that  they 
can't  do  these  things.  Tom  feels  it, — Mammy  does, 
— a  great  many  of  them  do.     I  think  it  's  wrong." 

"  Come,  come,  Eva  ;  you  are  only  a  child  !  You 
don't  know  anything  about  these  things,"  said 
Marie ;  "  besides,  your  talking  makes  my  head 
ache." 

Marie  always  had  a  headache  on  hand  for  any 
conversation  that  did  not  exactly  suit  her. 

Eva  stole  away ;  but  after  that,  she  assiduously 
gave  Mammy  reading  lessons. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HENRIQUE. 

About  this  time,  St.  Clare's  brother  Alfred,  with 
his  eldest  son,  a  boy  of  twelve,  spent  a  day  or  two* 
with  the  family  at  the  lake. 

No  sight  could  be  more  singular  and  beautiful 
than  that  of  these  twin  brothers.  Nature,  instead 
of  instituting  resemblances  between  them,  had  made 
them  opposites  on  every  point ;  yet  a  mysterious  tie 
seemed  to  unite  them  in  a  closer  friendship  than, 
ordinary. 

They  used  to  saunter,  arm  in  arm,  up  and  down 
the  alleys  and  walks  of  the  garden.  Augustine,  with 
his  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair,  his  ethereally  flexible 
form  and  vivacious  features  ;  and  Alfred,  dark-eyed, 
with  haughty  Roman  profile,  firmly-knit  limbs,  and 
decided  bearing.  They  were  always  abusing  each 
other's  opinions  and  practices,  and  yet  never  a  whit 


378  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

the  less  absorbed  in  each  other's  society ;  in  fact, 
the  very  contrariety  seemed  to  unite  them,  like  the 
attraction  between  opposite  poles  of  the  magnet. 

Henrique,  the  eldest  son  of  Alfred,  was  a  noble, 
dark-eyed,  princely  boy,  full  of  vivacity  and  spirit ; 
and,  from  the  first  moment  of  introduction,  seemed 
to  be  perfectly  fascinated  by  the  spirituelle  graces 
of  his  cousin  Evangeline. 

Eva  had  a  little  pet  pony,  of  a  snowy  whiteness. 
It  was  easy  as  a  cradle,  and  as  gentle  as  its  little 
mistress  ;  and  this  pony  was  now  brought  up  to  the 
back  verandah  by  Tom,  while  a  little  mulatto  boy 
of  about  thirteen  led  along  a  small  black  Arabian, 
which  had  just  been  imported,  at  a  great  expense, 
for  Henrique. 

Henrique  had  a  boy's  pride  in  his  new  possession  ; 
and,  as  he  advanced  and  took  the  reins  out  of  the 
hands  of  his  little  groom,  he  looked  carefully  over 
him,  and  his  brow  darkened. 

"  What  's  this,  Dodo,  you  little  lazy  dog !  you 
have  n't  rubbed  my  horse  down,  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Dodo,  submissively  ;  "  he  got 
that  dust  on  his  own  self." 

"  You  rascal,  shut  your  mouth !  "  said  Henrique, 
violently  raising  his  riding-whip.  "  How  dare  you 
speak  ?" 

The  boy  was  a  handsome,  bright-eyed  mulatto,  of 
just  Henrique's  size,  and  his  curling  hair  hung  round 
a  high,  bold  forehead.  He  had  white  blood  in  his 
veins,  as  could  be  seen  by  the  quick  flush  in  his 
cheek,  and  the  sparkle  of  his  eye,  as  he  eagerly 
tried  to  speak. 

"  Mas'r  Henrique  ! — "  he  began. 

Henrique  struck  him  across  the  face  with  his 
riding-whip,  and,  seizing  one    of  his    arms,  forced 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  7>19 

him  on  to  his  knees,  and  beat  him  till  he  was  out 
of  breath. 

"  There,  you  impudent  dog  !  Now  will  you  learn 
not  to  answer  back  when  I  speak  to  you  ?  Take 
the  horse  back,  and  clean  him  properly.  I  '11  teach 
you  your  place  !  " 

"  Young  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "  I  specs  what  he 
was  gwine  to  say  was,  that  the  horse  would  roll  when 
he  was  bringing  him  up  from  the  stable ;  he  's  so 
full  of  spirits, — that 's  the  way  he  got  that  dirt  on  him  ; 
I  looked  to  his  cleaning." 

"  You  hold  your  tongue  till  you  're  asked  to 
speak !  said  Henrique,  turning  on  his  heel,  and 
walking  up  the  steps  to  speak  to  Eva,  who  stood  in 
her  riding-dress. 

"  Dear  Cousin,  I  'm  sorry  this  stupid  fellow  has 
kept  you  waiting,"  he  said.  "  Let 's  sit  down .  here, 
on  this  seat,  till  they  come.  What  's  the  matter, 
Cousin  ; — you  look  sober." 

"  How  could  you  be  so  cruel  and  wicked  to  poor 
Dodo  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  Cruel, — wicked  !  "  said  the  boy,  with  unaffected 
surprise.     "  What  do  you  mean,  dear  Eva  ? " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  call  me  dear  Eva,  when  you 
do  so,"  said  Eva. 

"  Dear  Cousin,  you  don 't  know  Dodo  ;  it 's  the 
only  way  to  manage  him,  he  's  so  full  of  lies  and  ex- 
cuses. The  only  way  is  to  put  him  down  at  once, — 
not  let  him  open  his  mouth  ;  that 's  the  way  papa 
manages." 

"  But  Uncle  Tom  said  it  was  an  accident,  and  he 
never  tells  what  is  n't  true." 

ll  He  's  an  uncommon  old  nigger,  then  !  "  said 
Henrique.     "  Dodo  will  lie  as  fast  as  he  can  speak." 

"You  frighten  him  into  deceiving,  if  you  treat 
him  so."' 

26  -"-:,. 


380  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  Why,  Eva,  you  've  really  taken  such  a  fancy  to 
Dodo,  that  I  shall  be  jealous." 

"  But  you  beat  him, — and  he  did  n't  deserve  it." 

"  O,  well,  it  may  go  for  some  time  when  he  does,, 
and  don't  get  it.  A  few  cuts  never  come  amiss  with. 
Dodo, — he  's  a  regular  spirit,  I  can  tell  you  ;  but  I 
won't  beat  him  again  before  you,  if  it  troubles  you." 

Eva  was  not  satisfied,  but  found  it  in  vain  to  try- 
to  make  her  handsome  cousin  understand  her 
feelings. 

Dodo  soon  appeared,  with  the  horses. 

"Well,  Dodo,  you 've  done  pretty  well,  this  time/' 
said  his  young  master,  with  a  more  gracious  air. 
"  Come,  now,  and  hold  Miss  Eva's  horse,  while  I 
put  her  on  to  the  saddle." 

Dodo  came  and  stood  by  Eva's  pony.  His  face 
was  troubled  ;  his  eyes  looked  as  if  he  had  been 
crying. 

Henrique,  who  valued  himself  on  his  gentlemanly 
adroitness  in  all  matters  of  gallantry,  soon  had  his 
fair  cousin  in  the  saddle,  and,  gathering  the  reins, 
placed  them  in  her  hands. 

But  Eva  bent  to  the  other  side  of  the  horse,  where 
Dodo  was  standing,  and  said,  as  he  relinquished  the 
reins, — "  That 's  a  good  boy,  Dodo  ;— thank  you  !  " 

Dodo  looked  up  in  amazement  into  the  sweet 
young  face  ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his  cheeks,  and  the 
tears  to  his  eyes. 

u  Here,  Dodo,"  said  his  master,  imperiously. 

Dodo  sprang  and  held  the  horse,  while  his  master 
mounted. 

"  There  's  a  picayune  for  you  to  buy  candy  with,, 
Dodo,"  said  Henrique  ;  "  go  get  some." 

And  Henrique  cantered  down  the  walk  after  Eva. 
Dodo  stood  looking  after  the  two  children.     One 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  38 1 

had  given  him  money ;  and  one  had  given  him  what 
he  wanted  far  more, — a  kind  word,  kindly  spoken. 
Dodo  had  been  only  a  few  months  away  from  his 
mother.  His  master  had  bought  him  at  a  slave 
warehouse,  for  his  handsome  face,  to  be  a  match  to 
the  handsome  pony  ;  and  he  was  now  getting  his 
breaking  in,  at  the  hands  of  his  young  master. 

The  scene  of  the  beating  had  been  witnessed  by 
the  two  brothers  St.  Clare,  from  another  part  of  the 
garden. 

Augustine's  cheek  flushed  ;  but  he  only  observed, 
with  his  usual  sarcastic  carelessness, 

"  I  suppose  that 's  what  we  may  call  republican 
education,  Alfred  ?  " 

"  Henrique  is  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  when  his  blood 's 
up,"  said  Alfred,  carelessly. 

"  I  suppose  you  consider  this  an  instructive  prac- 
tice for  him,"  said  Augustine,  drily. 

"  I  couldn  't  help  it,  if  I  didn  't.  Henrique  is  a 
regular  little  tempest ;— his  mother  and  I  have  given 
him  up,  long  ago.  But,  then,  that  Dodo  is  a  perfect 
sprite, — no  amount  of  whipping  can  hurt  him." 

"  And  this  by  way  of  teaching  Henrique  the  first 
verse  of  a  republican's  catechism,  '  All  men  are  born 
free  and  equal ! '  " 

"  Poh !  "  said  Alfred ;  "  one  of  Tom  Jefferson's 
pieces  of  French  sentiment  and  humbug.  It 's  per- 
fectly ridiculous  to  have  that  going  the  rounds  among 
us,  to  this  day." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  St.  Clare,  significantly. 

"  Because,"  said  Alfred,  "  we  can  see  plainly 
enough  that  all  men  are  not  born  free,  nor  born 
equal ;  they  are  born  anything  else.  For  my  part, 
I  think  half  this  republican  talk  sheer  humbug.  It 
is  the   educated,  the  intelligent,  the  wealthy,  the  re- 


382  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

iined,  who  ought  to  have  equal  rights,  and  not  the 
canaille." 

"  If  you  can  keep  the  canaille  of  that  opinion," 
said  Augustine.  "  They  took  their  turn  once,  in 
France." 

"  Of  course,  they  must  be  kept  down,  consistently, 
steadily,  as  I  should,"  said  Alfred,  setting  his  foot 
-hard  down,  as  if  he  were  standing  on  somebody. 

"  It  makes  a  terrible  slip  when  they  get  up,"  said 
Augustine, — "  in  St.  Domingo,  for  instance." 

"  Poh  !  "  said  Alfred,  "  we  '11  take  care  of  that,  in 
this  country.  We  must  set  our  face  against  all  this 
educating,  elevating  talk,  that  is  getting  about  now ; 
the  lower  class  must  not  be  educated." 

"  That  is  past  praying  for,"  said  Augustine ; 
""  educated  they  will  be,  and  we  have  only  to  say 
how.  Our  system  is  educating  them  in  barbarism 
and  brutality.  We  are  breaking  all  humanizing  ties, 
and  making  them  brute  beasts  ;  and,  if  they  get  the 
upper  hand,  such  we  shall  find  them." 

"  They  never  shall  get  the  upper  hand !  "  said 
Alfred. 

"That's  right,"  said  St.  Clare;  "  put  on  the 
steam,  fasten  down  the  es.cape-valve,  and  sit  on  it, 
and  see  where  you  '11  land." 

"  Well,"  said  Alfred,  "  we  will  see.  I  'm  not 
afraid  to  sit  on  the  escape-valve,  as  long  as  the 
boilers  are  strong,  and  the  machinery  works  well." 

"  The  nobles  in  Louis  XVI. 's  time  thought  just 
so  ;  and  Austria  and  Pius  IX.  think  so  now ;  and, 
some  pleasant  morning,  you  may  all  be  caught  up  to 
meet  each  other  in  the  air,  when  the  boilers  burst." 

"Dies  declarabit"  said  Alfred,  laughing. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Augustine,  "if  there  is  anything 
that  is  revealed  with  the  strength  of  a  divine  law  in 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  383, 

our  times,  it  is  that  the  masses  are  to  rise,  and  the 
under,  class  become  the  upper  one." 

"  That 's  one  of  your  red  republican  humbugs,. 
Augustine  !  Why  did  n't  you  ever  take  to  the 
stump  ; — you  'd  make  a  famous  stump  orator  1  Well, 
I  hope  I  shall  be  dead  before  this  millennium  of 
your  greasy  masses  comes  on." 

"  Greasy  or  not  greasy,  they  will  govern  you,  when 
their  time  comes,"  said  Augustine ;  "  and  they  will' 
be  just  such  rulers  as  you  make  them.  The  French 
noblesse  chose  to  have  the  people  'sansculottes,' 
and  they  had  '  sans  ciilotte'  governors  to  their  hearts' 
content.     The  people  of  Hayti — " 

"  O,  come,  Augustine  !  as  if  we  had  n't  had  enough 
of  that  abominable,  contemptible  Hayti  !  The  Hay- 
tiens  were  not  Anglo  Saxons;  if  they  had  been,  there 
would  have  been  another  story.  The  Anglo  Saxon 
is  the  dominant  race  of  the  world,  and  is  to  be  so." 

"  Well,  there  is  a  pretty  fair  infusion  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  blood  among  our  slaves,  now,"  said  Augustine. 
"  There  are  plenty  among  them  who  have  only 
enough  of  the  African  to  give  a  sort  of  tropical 
warmth  and  fervor  to  our  calculating  firmness  and 
foresight.  If  ever  the  San  Domingo  hour  comes, 
Anglo  Saxon  blood  will  lead  on  the  day.  Sons  of 
white  fathers,  with  all  our  haughty  feelings  burning 
in  their  veins,  will  not  always  be  bought  and  sold 
and  traded.  They  will  rise,  and  raise  with  them 
their  mother's  race." 

"  Stuff  ! — nonsense  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Augustine,  '"  there  goes  an  old  say- 
ing to  this  effect,  '  As  it  was  in  the  days  of  Noah,  so 
shall  it  be  ; — they  ate,  they  drank,  they  planted,  they 
builded,  and  knew  not  till  the  flood  came  and  took 
them.'  " 


384  UNCLE    TOM?S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  On  the  whole,  Augustine,  I  think  your  talents 
might  do  for  a  circuit  rider,"  said  Alfred,  laughing. 
"  Never  you  fear  for  us  ;  possession  is  our  nine  points. 
AVe  've  got  the  power.  This  subject  race,"  said  he, 
.•stamping  firmly,  "  is  down,  and  shall  stay  down  ! 
We  have  energy  enough  to  manage  our  own  powder." 

"  Sons  trained  like  your  Henrique  will  be  grand 
guardians  of  your  powder-magazines,"  said  Augus- 
tine,— "  so  cool  and  self-possessed  !  The  proverb 
says,  \  They  that  cannot  govern  themselves  cannot 
govern  others.' " 

"  There  is  a  trouble  there,"  said  Alfred,  thought- 
fully ;  "  there  's  no  doubt  that  our  system  is  a  diffi- 
cult one  to  train  children  under.  It  gives  too  free 
scope  to  the  passions,  altogether,  which,  in  our 
-climate,  are  hot  enough!  I  find  trouble  with  Hen- 
rique. The  boy  is  generous  and  warm-hearted,  but 
a  perfect  fire-cracker  when  excited.  I  believe  I  shall 
send  him  North  for  his  education,  where  obedience 
is  more  fashionable,  and  where  he  will  associate 
more  with  equals,  and  less  with  dependants." 

"  Since  training  children  is  the  staple  work  of  the 
human  race,"  said  Augustine,  "  I  should  think  it 
something  of  a  consideration  that  our  system  does 
not  work  well  there." 

"  It  does  not  for  some  things,"  said  Alfred  ;  "  for 
others,  again,  it  does.  It  makes  boys  manly  and 
courageous ;  and  the  very  vices  of  an  abject  race 
tend  to  strengthen  in  them  the  opposite  virtues.  I 
think  Henrique,  now,  has  a  keener  sense  of  the 
beauty  of  truth,  from  seeing  lying  and  deception  the 
universal  badge  of  slavery." 

"  A  Christian-like  view  of  the  subject,  certainly!" 
said  Augustine. 

"It's  true,  Christian-like  or  not;  and  is  about  as 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  385 

Christian-like  as  most  other  things  in  the  world," 
said  Alfred. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Well,  there 's  no  use  in  talking,  Augustine.  I 
believe  we  've  been  round  and  round  this  old  track 
five  hundred  times,  more  or  less.  What  do  you  say 
to  a  game  of  back-gammon  ?  " 

The  two  brothers  ran  up  the  verandah  steps,  and 
were  soon  seated  at  a  light  bamboo  stand,  with  the 
backgammon-board  between  them.  As  they  were 
setting  their  men,  Alfred  said, 

"  I  tell  you,  Augustine,  if  I  thought  as  you  do,  I 
should  do  something." 

"  I  dare  say  you  would, — you  are  one  of  the  doing 
sort, — but  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  elevate  your  own  servants,  for  a  speci- 
men," said  Alfred,  with  a  half-scornful  smile. 

"  You  might  as  well  set  Mount  JEtna.  on  them 
flat,  and  tell  them  to  stand  up  under  it,  as  tell  me 
to  elevate  my  servants  under  all  the  superincumbent 
mass  of  society  upon  them.  One  man  can  do 
nothing,  against  the  whole  action  of  a  community. 
Education,  to  do  anything,  must  be  a  state  educa- 
tion j  or  there  must  be  enough  agreed  in  it  to  make 
a  current." 

"  You  take  the  first  throw,"  said  Alfred  ;  and  the 
brothers  were  soon  lost  in  the  game,  and  heard  no 
more  till  the  scraping  of  horses'  feet '  was  heard 
under  the  verandah. 

"  There  come  the  children,"  said  Augustine,  rising. 
"  Look  here,  Alf !  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so 
beautiful  ?  "  And,  in  truth,  it  was  a  beautiful  sight. 
Henrique,  with  his  bold  brow,  and  dark,  glossy 
curls,  and  glowing  cheek,  was  laughing  gayly,  as  he 
bent  towards  his  fair  cousin,  as  they  came  on.     She 


386  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  •    OR, 

was  dressed  in  a  blue  riding-dress,  with  a  cap  of 
the  same  color.  Exercise  had  given  a  brilliant  hue 
to  her  cheeks,  and  heightened  the  effect  of  her 
singularly  transparent  skin,  and  golden  hair. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  perfectly  dazzling  beauty  ! " 
said  Alfred.  "  I  tell  you,  Auguste,  won't  she  make 
some  hearts  ache,  one  of  these  days  ?  " 

u  She  will,  too  truly, — God  knows  I  'm  afraid  so. !  " 
said  St.  Clare,  in  a  tone  of  sudden  bitterness,  as  he 
hurried  down  to  take  her  off  her  horse. 

"  Eva,  darling !  you  're  not  much  tired  ?  "  he  said, 
as  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"  No,  papa,"  said  the  child  ;  but  her  short,  hard 
breathing  alarmed  her  father. 

"  How  could  you  ride  so  fast,  dear  ? — you  know 
it 's  bad  for  you." 

"  I  felt  so  well,  papa,  and  liked  it  so  much.  I  for- 
got." 

St.  Clare  carried  her  in  his  arms  into  the  parlor, 
and  laid  her  on  the  sofa. 

"  Henrique,  you  must  be  careful  of  Eva,"  said  he ; 
"  you  must  n't  ride  fast  with  her." 

"  I  '11  take  her  under  my  care,"  said  Henrique, 
seating  himself  by  the  sofa,  and  taking  Eva's 
hand. 

Eva  soon  found  herself  much  better.  Her  father 
and  uncle  resumed  their  game,  and  the  children 
were  left  together. 

"  Do  you  know,  Eva,  I  'm  so  sorry  papa  is  only 
going  to  stay  two  days  here,  and  then  I  shan  't  see 
you  again  for  ever  so  long  !  If  I  stay  with  you,  I  'd 
try  to  be  good,  and  not  be  cross  to  Dodo,  and  so  on. 
I  don't  mean  to  treat  Dodo  ill ;  but,  you  know,  I  've 
got  such  a  quick  temper.  I  'm  not  really  bad  to 
him,  though.     I  give  him  a  picayune,  now  and  then  j, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  387 

and  you  see  he  dresses  well.  I  think,  on  the  whole. 
Dodo  's  pretty  well  off." 

"  Would  you  think  you  were  well  off,  if  there  were 
not  one  creature  in  the  world  near  you  to  love 
you  ? 

"  1  ?_Well,  of  course  not." 

"And  you  have  taken  Dodo  away  from  all  the 
friends  he  ever  had,  and  now  he  has  not  a  creature 
to  love  him  ; — nobody  can  be  good  that  way." 

"  Well,  I  can  't  help  it,  as  I  know  of.  I  can  't 
get  his  mother,  and  I  can  't  love  him  myself,  nor 
anybody  else,  as  I  know  of." 

"  Why  can  't  you  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  Love  Dodo  !  Why,  Eva,  you  would  n't  have  me  ! 
I  may  like  him  well  enough  ;  but  you  don't  love  your 
servants." 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

"  How  odd  ! " 

"  Don't  the  Bible  say  we  must  love  everybody  ?  " 

"  O,  the  Bible  !  To  be  sure,  it  says  a  great  many 
such  things  ;  but,  then,  nobody  ever  thinks  of  doing 
them, — you  know,  Eva,  nobody  does." 

Eva  did  not  speak ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  and 
thoughtful,  for  a  few  moments. 

"  At  any  rate,"  she  said,  "  dear  Cousin,  do  love 
poor  Dodo,  and  be  kind  to  him,  for  my  sake !  " 

"  I  could  love  anything,  for  your  sake,  dear 
Cousin  ;  for  I  really  think  you  are  the  loveliest  creat- 
ure that  I  ever  saw  !  "  And  Henrique  spoke  with 
an  earnestness  that  flushed  his  handsome  face.  Eva 
received  it  with  perfect  simplicity,  without  even  a 
change  of  feature  ;  merely  saying,  "  I  'm  glad  you 
feel  so,  dear  Henrique  !  I  hope  you  will  remem- 
ber." 

The  dinner-bell  put  an  end  to  the  interview. 


388  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 


CHAPTER   XXIV, 

FORESHADOWINGS. 

Two  days  after  this,  Alfred  St.  Clare  and  Augus- 
tine parted  ;  and  Eva,  who  had  been  stimulated,  by 
the  society  of  her  young  cousin,  to  exertions  beyond 
her  strength,  began  to  fail  rapidly.  St.  Clare  was 
at  last  willing  to  call  in  medical  advice, — a  thing 
from  which  he  had  alwavs  shrunk,  because  it  was 
the  admission  of  an  unwelcome  truth. 

But,  for  a  day  or  two,  Eva  was  so  unwell  as  to  be 
confined  to  the  house  ;  and-  the  doctor  was  called. 

Marie  St.  Clare  had  taken  no  notice  of  the  child's 
gradually  decaying  health  and  strength,  because  she 
was  completely  absorbed  in  studying  out  two  or 
three  new  forms  of  disease  to  which  she  believed 
.she  herself  was  a  victim.  It  was  the  first  principle 
of  Marie's  belief  that  nobody  ever  was  or  could  be 
so  great  a  sufferer  as  herself-,  and,  therefore,  she 
always  repelled  quite  indignantly  any  suggestion  that 
any  one  around  her  could  be  sick.  She  was  always 
sure,  in  such  a  case,  that  it  was  nothing  but  laziness, 
•or  want  of  energy  ;  and  that,  if  they  had  had  the 
suffering  she  had,  they  would  soon  know  the  differ- 
ence. 

Miss  Ophelia  had  several  times  tried  to  awaken 
her  maternal  fears  about  Eva  ;  but  to  no  avail. 

"  I  don't  see  as  anything  ails  the  child,"  she 
would  say  ;  "  she  runs  about,  and  plays." 

"But  she  has  a  cough." 

"  Cough  !  you  don't  need  to  tell  me  about  a  cough. 
I  've  always  been  subject  to  a  cough,  all  my  days. 
When  I  was  of  Eva's  age,  they  thought  I  was  in  a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  389 

consumption.  Night  after  night,  Mammy  used  to 
sit  up  with  me.     O  !     Eva's  cough  is  not  anything." 

"  But  she  gets  weak,  and  is  short-breathed." 

"  Law  !  I  've  had  that,  years  and  years ;  it  's 
only  a  nervous  affection." 

"But  she  sweats  so  nights." 

"  Well,  I  have,  these  ten  years.  Very  often, 
night  after  night,  my  clothes  will  be  wringing  wet. 
There  won't  be  a  dry  thread  in  my  night-clothes, 
and  the  sheets  will  be  so  that  Mammy  has  to  hang 
them  up  to  dry  !  Eva  does  n't  sweat  anything  like 
that!" 

Miss  Ophelia  shut  her  mouth  for  a  season. 
But,  now  that  Eva  was  fairly  and  visibly  prostrated, 
and  a  doctor  called,  Marie,  all  on  a  sudden,  took  a 
new  turn. 

"  She  knew  it,"  she  said  ;  "  she  always  felt  it, 
that  she  was  destined  to  be  the  most  miserable  of 
mothers.  Here  she  was,  with  her  wretched  health, 
and  her  only  darling  child  going  down  to  the  grave 
before  her  eyes ;  " — and  Marie  routed  up  Mammy 
nights,  and  rumpussed  and  scolded,  with  more 
energy  than  ever,  all  day,  on  the  strength  of  this 
new  misery. 

"  My  dear  Marie,  don't  talk  so  ! "  said  St.  Clare. 
""  You  ought  not  to  give  up  the  case  so,  at  once." 

"  You  have  not  a  mother's  feelings,  St.  Clare  ! 
You  never  could  understand  me  ! — you  don't  now." 

"  But  don't  talk  so,  as  if  it  were  a  gone  case  !  " 

"  I  can't  take  it  as  indifferently  as  you  can,  St. 
Clare.  If  you  don't  feel  when  your  only  child  is  in 
this  alarming  state,  /do.  It  's  a  blow  too  much  for 
me,  with  all  I  was  bearing  before." 

"It  's  true,"  said  St.  Clare,  "that  Eva  is  very 
delicate,  that   I    always   knew ;  and    that    she    has 


39°  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

grown  so  rapidly  as  to  exhaust  her  strength  ;  and 
that  her  situation  is  critical.  But  just  now  she  is 
only  prostrated  by  the  heat  of  the  weather,  and  by 
the  excitement  of  her  cousin's  visit,  and  the  exer- 
tions she  made.  The  physician  says  there  is  room 
for  hope." 

"  Well,  of  course,  if  you  can  look  on  the  bright 
side,  pray  do  ;  it  's  a  mercy  if  people  have  n't  sensi- 
tive feelings,  in  this  world.  I  am  sure  I  wish  I 
did  n't  feel  as  I  do ;  it  only  makes  me  completely 
wretched !  I  wish  I  could  be  as  easy  as  the  rest  of 
you !  " 

And  the  "  rest  of  them "  had  good  reason  to 
breathe  the  same  prayer,  for  Marie  paraded  her  newr 
misery  as  the  reason  and  apology  for  all  sorts  of 
inflictions  on  every  one  about  her.  Every  word 
that  was  spoken  by  anybody,  everything  that  was 
done  or  was  not  done  everywhere,  was  only  a  new 
proof  that  she  was  surrounded  by  hard-hearted, 
insensible  beings,  who  were  unmindful  of  her 
peculiar  sorrows.  Poor  Eva  heard  some  of  these 
speeches  ;  and  nearly  cried  her  little  eyes  out,  in 
pity  for  her  mamma,  and  in  sorrow  that  she  should 
make  her  so  much  distress. 

In  a  week  or  two,  there  was  a  great  improvement 
of  symptoms, — one  of  those  deceitful  lulls,  by  which 
her  inexorable  disease  so  often  beguiles  the  anxious 
heart,  even  on  the  verge  of  the  grave.  Eva's  step 
was  again  in  the  garden, — in  the  balconies  ;  she 
played  and  laughed  again, — and  her  father,  in  a 
transport,  declared  that  they  should  soon  have  her 
as  hearty  as  anybody.  Miss  Ophelia  and  the 
physician  alone  felt  no  encouragement  from  this 
illusive  truce.  There  was  one  other  heart,  too, 
that  felt  the  same  certaintv,  and  that  was  the  little 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  39 1 

heart  of  Eva.  What  is  it  that  sometimes  speaks  in 
the  soul  so  calmly,  so  clearly,  that  its  earthly  time 
is  short  ?  Is  it  the  secret  instinct  of  decaying  nature, 
or  the  soul's  impulsive  throb,  as  immortality  draws 
on  ?  Be  it  what  it  may,  it  rested  *  in  the  heart  of 
Eva,  a  calm,  sweet,  prophetic  certainty  that  Heaven 
was  near  ;  calm  as  the  light  of  sunset,  sweet  as  the 
bright  stillness  of  autumn,  there  her  little  heart  re- 
posed, only  troubled  by  sorrow  for  those  who  loved  i 
her  so  dearly. 

For  the  child,  though  nursed  so  tenderly,  and 
though  life  was  unfolding  before  her  with  every  bright- 
ness that  love  and  wealth  could  give,  had  no  regret 
for  herself  in  dying. 

In  that  book  which  she  and  her  simple  old  friend 
had  read  so  much  together,  she  had  seen  and  taken 
to  her  young  heart  the  image  of  one  who  loved  the 
little  child  ;  and,  as  she  gazed  and  mused,  He  had 
ceased  to  be  an  image  and  a  picture  of  the  distant 
past,  and  come  to  be  a  living,  all-surrounding  reality. 
His  love  enfolded  her  childish  heart  with  more  than 
mortaL tenderness;  and  it  was  to  Him,  she  said,  she 
was  going,  and  to  his  home. 

But  her  heart  yearned  with  sad  tenderness  for  all 
that  she  was  to  leave  behind.  Her  father  most, — 
for  Eva,  though  she  never  distinctly  thought  so,  had 
an  instinctive  perception  that  she  was  more  in  his 
heart  than  any  other.  She  loved  her  mother  because 
she  was  so  loving  a  creature,  and  all  the  selfishness 
that  she  had  seen  in  her  only  saddened  and  per- 
plexed her  ;  for  she  had  a  child's  implicit  trust  that 
her  mother  could  not  do  wrong.  There  was  some- 
thing about  her  that  Eva  never  -could  make  out ; 
and  she  always  smoothed  it  over  with  thinking  that, 
after  all,  it  was  mamma,  and  she  loved  her  very 
dearly  indeed. 


392  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

She  felt,  too,  for  those  fond,  faithful  servants,  to- 
whom  she  was  as  daylight  and  sunshine.  Children 
do  not  usually  generalize;  but  Eva  was  an  uncom- 
monly mature  child,  and  the  things  that  she  had 
witnessed  of  the  evils  of  the  system  under  which. 
they  were  living  .had  fallen,  one  by  one,  into  the 
depths  of  her  thoughtful,  pondering  heart.  She  had 
vague  longings  to  do  something  for  them, — to  bless 
and  save  not  only  them,  but  all  in  their  condition, 
— longings  that  contrasted  sadly  with  the  feebleness 
of  her  little  frame. 

"  Uncle  Tom,"  she  said,  one  day,  when  she  was 
reading  to  her  friend,  "  I  can  understand  why  Jesus 
wanted  to  die  for  us." 

"  Why,  Miss  Eva  ?  " 

"  Because  I  've  felt  so,  too." 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Eva  ? — I  don't  understand." 

"  I  can't  tell  you ;  but,  when  I  saw  those  poor 
creatures  on  the  boat,  you  know,  when  you  came  up 
and  I, — some  had  lost  their  mothers,  and  some  their 
husbands,  and  some  mothers  cried  for  their  little 
children, — and  when  I  heard  about  poor  Prue, — oh, 
was  n't  that  dreadful ! — and  a  great  many  other 
times,  I  've  felt  that  I  would  be  glad  to  die,  if  my 
dying  could  stop  all  this  misery.  I  would  die  for 
them,  Tom,  if  I  could,"  said  the  child,  earnestly, 
laying  her  little  thin  hand  on  his. 

Tom  looked  at  the  child  with  awe  ;  and  when 
she,  hearing  her  father's  voice,  glided  away,  he 
wiped  his  eyes  many  times,  as  he  looked  after 
her. 

"  It  's  jest  no  use  tryin'  to  keep  Miss  Eva  here,"" 
he  said  to  Mammy,  whom  he  met  a  moment  after. 
"  She  's  got  the  Lord's  mark  in  her  forehead." 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,"  said  Mammy,  raising  her  hands  ; 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  393 

"  I  've  allers  said  so.  She  was  n't  never  like  a  child 
that  's  to  live — there  was  allers  something  deep  in 
her  eyes.  I  've  told  Missis  so,  many  the  time  ;  it  's 
a  comin'  true, — we  all  sees  it, — dear,  little,  blessed 
lamb !  " 

Eva  came  tripping  up  the  verandah  steps  to  her 
father.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  rays 
of  the  sun  formed  a  kind  of  glory  behind  her,  as 
she  came  forward  in  her  white  dress,  with  her  golden 
hair  and  glowing  cheeks,  her  eyes  unnaturally  bright 
with  the  slow  fever  that  burned  in  her  veins. 

St.  Clare  had  called  her  to  show  a  statuette  that 
he  had  been  buying  for  her ;  but  her  appearance, 
as  she  came  on,  impressed  him  suddenly  and  pain- 
fully. There  is  a  kind  of  beauty  so  intense,  yet  so- 
fragile,  that  we  cannot  bear  to  look  at  it.  Her 
father  folded  her  suddenly  in  his  arms,  and  almost 
forgot  what  he  was  going  to  tell  her. 

"  Eva,  dear,  you  are  better  now-a-days, — are  you 
not  ? " 

"  Papa,"  said  Eva,  with  sudden  firmness,  "  I  've 
had  things  I  wanted  to  say  to  you,  a  great  while. 
I  want  to  say  them  now,  before  I  get  weaker." 

St.  Clare  trembled  as  Eva  seated  herself  in  his 
lap.     She  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom,  and  said, 

"  It  's  all  no  use,  papa,  to  keep  it  to  myself  any 
longer.  The  time  is  coming  that  I  am  going  to 
leave  you.  I  am  going,  and  never  to  come  back  !  " 
and  Eva  sobbed. 

"  O,  now,  my  dear  little  Eva ! "  said  St.  Clare,, 
trembling  as  he  spoke,  but  speaking  cheerfully, 
"  you  've  got  nervous  and  low-spirited  ;  you  must  n't 
indulge  such  gloomy  thoughts.  See  here,  I  've 
bought  a  statuette  for  you  !  " 

"  No,  papa,"   said  Eva,  putting  it  gently  away,. 


394  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

*;  don't  deceive  yourself ! — I  am  not  any  better,  I 
know  it  perfectly  well, — and  I  am  going,  before 
long.  I  am  not  nervous, — I  am  not  low-spirited. 
If  it  were  not  for  you,  papa,  and  my  friends,  I  should 
be  perfectly  happy.     I  want  to  go, — I  long  to  go  !  " 

"  Why,  dear  child,  what  has  made  your  poor  little 
heart  so  sad  ?  You  have  had  everything,  to  make 
you  happy,  that  could  be  given  you." 

"  I  had  rather  be  in  heaven  ;  though,  only  for  my 
friends'  sake,  I  would  be  willing  to  live.  There  are 
a  great  many  things  here  that  make  me  sad,  that 
seem  dreadful  to  me ;  I  had  rather  be  there  ;  but  I 
don't  want  to  leave  you, — it  almost  breaks  my 
heart ! " 

"  What  makes  you  sad,  and  seems  dreadful,  Eva  ? " 

"  O,  things  that  are  done,  and  done  all  the  time. 
I  feel  sad  for  our  poor  people  ;  they  love  me  dearly, 
and  they  are  all  good  and  kind  to  me.  I  wish,  papa, 
they  were  sMfree." 

"  Why,  Eva,  child,  don't  you  think  they  are  well 
enough  off  now?" 

"  O,  but,  papa,  if  anything  should  happen  to  you, 
what  would  become  of  them  ?  There  are  very  few 
men  like  you,  papa.  Uncle  Alfred  is  n't  like  you, 
and  mamma  isn't;  and  then,  think  of  poor  old 
Prue's  owners  !  What  horrid  things  people  do,  and 
can  do !  "  and  Eva  shuddered. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  too  sensitive.  I  'm 
sorry  I  ever  let  you  hear  such  stories." 

"  O,  that  's  what  troubles  me,  papa.  You  want 
me  to  live  so  happy,  and  never  to  have  any  pain, — 
never  suffer  anything, — not  even  hear  a  sad  story, 
when  other  poor  creatures  have  nothing  but  pain 
and  sorrow,  all  their  lives ; — it  seems  selfish.  I 
•ought  to   know   such   things,  I  ought  to  feel  about 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  395 

them  !  Such  things  always  sunk  into  my  heart ; 
they  went  down  deep  ;  I  've  thought  and  thought 
about  them.  Papa,  is  n't  there  any  way  to  have  all 
slaves  made  free  ? " 

"  That  's  a  difficult  question,  dearest.  There  's 
no  doubt  that  this  way  is  a  very  bad  one  ;  a  great 
many  people  think  so  ;  I  do  myself.  I  heartily  wish 
that  there  were  not  a  slave  in  the  land  ;  but,  then,  I 
don't  know  what  is  to  be  done  about  it  ! " 

"  Papa,  you  are  such  a  good  man,  and  so  noble, 
and  kind,  and  you  always  have  a  way  of  saying 
things  that  is  so  pleasant,  could  n't  you  go  all  round 
and  try  to  persuade  people  to  do  right  about  this  ? 
When  I  am  dead,  papa,  then  you  will  think  of  me, 
and  do  it  for  my  sake.     I  would  do  it,  if  I  could." 

"  When  you  are  dead,  Eva,"  said  St.  Clare, 
passionately.  "  O,  child,  don't  talk  to  me  so  !  You 
are  all  I  have  on  earth." 

"  Poor  old  Prue's  child  was  all  that  she  had, — and 
yet  she  had  to  hear  it  crying,  and  she  could  n't  help 
it !  Papa,  these  poor  creatures  love  their  children 
as  much  as  you  do  me.  O  !  do  something  for  them  ! 
There  's  poor  Mammy  loves  her  children ;  I  've 
seen  her  cry  when  she  talked  about  them.  And 
Tom  loves  his  children ;  and  it  's  dreadful,  papa, 
that  such  things  are  happening,  all  the  time  !  " 

"  There,  there,  darling,"  said  St.  Clare,  sooth- 
ingly ;  "  only  don't  distress  yourself,  and  don't  talk 
of  dying,  and  I  will  do  anything  you  wish." 

"  And  promise  me,  dear  father,  that  Tom  shall 
have  his  freedom  as  soon  as  " — she  stopped,  and 
said,  in  a  hesitating  tone — "  I  am  gone  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world, — 
anything  you  could  ask  me  to." 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  the  child,  laying  her  burning 
27 


396  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

cheek  against  his,    "how  I    wish  we   could  go  to- 
gether !  " 

"Where,  dearest?"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  To  our  Saviour's  home ;  it 's  so  sweet  and  peace- 
ful there — it  is  all  so  loving  there !  "  The  child  spoke 
unconsciously,  as  of  a  place  where  she  had  often 
been.     "  Don't  you  want  to  go,  papa  ?  "  she  said. 

St.  Clare  drew  her  closer  to  him,  but  was  silent. 

"  You  will  come  to  me,"  said  the  child,  speaking  1 
in  a  voice  of  calm  certainty  which  she  often  used 
unconsciously. 

"  I  shall  come  after  you.     I  shall  not  forget  you." 

The  shadows  of  the  solemn  evening  closed  round 
them  deeper  and  deeper,  as  St.  Clare  sat  silently 
holding  the  little  frail  form  to  his  bosom.  He  saw 
no  more  the  deep  eyes,  but  the  voice  came  over  him 
as  a  spirit  voice,  and,  as  in  a  sort  of  judgment  vision, 
his  whole  past  life  rose  in  a  moment  before  his 
eyes :  his  mother's  prayers  and  hymns ;  his  own 
early  yearnings  and  aspirings  for  good ;  and, 
between  them  and  this  hour,  years  of  worldliness  and 
scepticism,  and  what  man  calls  respectable  living. 
We  can  think  much,  very  much,  in  a  moment.  St. 
Clare  saw  and  felt  many  things,  but  spoke  nothing  ; 
and,  as  it  grew  darker,  he  took  his  child  to  her  bed-  ,v 
room  ;  and,  when  she  was  prepared  for  rest,  he  sent 
away  the  attendants,  and  rocked  her  in  his  arms, 
and  sung  to  her  till  she  was  asleep. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    LITTLE    EVANGELIST. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon.  St.  Clare  was  stretched 
on  a  bamboo  lounge  in  the  verandah,  solacing  him- 
self with  a  cigar.     Marie  lay  reclined  on  a  sofa,  op- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  397 

posite  the  window  opening  on  the  verandah,  closely 
secluded,  under  an  awning  of  transparent  gauze, 
from  the  outrages  of  the  mosquitos,  and  languidly 
holding  in  her  hand  an  elegantly  bound  prayer-book. 
She  was  holding  it  because  it  was  Sunday,  and  she 
imagined  she  had  been  reading  it, — though,  in  fact, 
she  had  been  only  taking  a  succession  of  short  naps, 
with  it  open  in  her  hand. 

Miss  Ophelia,  who,  after  some  rummaging,  had 
hunted  up  a  small  Methodist  meeting  within  riding 
distance,  had  gone  out,  with  Tom  as  driver,  to  at- 
tend it;  and  Eva  had  accompanied  them. 

"  I  say,  Augustine,"  said  Marie  after  dozing  a 
while,  "  I  must  send  to  the  city  after  my  old  Doctor 
Posey ;  I  'm  sure  I  've  got  the  complaint  of  the 
heart." 

"  Well ;  why  need  you  send  for  him  ?  This  doc- 
tor that  attends  Eva  seems  skilful." 

"  I  would  not  trust  him  in  a  critical  case,"  said 
Marie  ;  "  and  I  think  I  may  say  mine  is  becoming 
so  !  I  've  been  thinking  of  it,  these  two  or  three 
nights  past ;  I  have  such  distressing  pains,  and  such 
strange  feelings." 

"  O,  Marie,  you  are  blue  ;  I  don't  believe  it  Ts 
heart  complaint." 

"  I  dare  say  you  don't,"  said  Marie  ;  "  I  was  pre- 
pared to  expect  that.  You  can  be  alarmed  enough, 
if  Eva  coughs,  or  has  the  least  thing  the  matter  with 
her ;  but  you  never  think  of  me." 

"  If  it  's  particularly  agreeable  to  you  to  have 
heart  disease,  why,  I  '11  try  and  maintain  you  have 
it,"  said  St.  Clare  ;   "  I  did  n't  know  it  was." 

"  Well,  I  only  hope  you  won't  be  sorry  for  this, 
when  it 's  too  late  !  "  said  Marie  ;  "  but,  believe  it 
or  not,  my  distress  about  Eva,  and  the  exertions  I 


398  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :   OR, 

have  made  with  that  dear  child,  have  developed 
what  I  have  long  suspected." 

What  the  exertions  were  which  Marie  referred 
to,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  state.  St.  Clare 
quietly  made  this  commentary  to  himself,  and  went 
on  smoking,  like  a  hard-hearted  wretch  of  a  man  as 
he  was,  till  a  carriage  drove  up  before  the  verandah, 
and  Eva  and  Miss  Ophelia  alighted. 

Miss  Ophelia  marched  straight  to  her  own  cham- 
ber, to  put  away  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  as  was 
always  her  manner,  before  she  spoke  a  word  on  any 
subject ;  while  Eva  came,  at  St.  Clare's  call,  and 
was  sitting  on  his  knee,  giving  him  an  account  of 
the  services  they  had  heard. 

They  soon  heard  loud  exclamations  from  Miss 
Ophelia's  room,  which,  like  the  one  in  which  they 
were  sitting,  opened  on  to  the  verandah,  and  violent 
reproof  addressed  to  somebody. 

"  What  new  witchcraft  has  Tops  been  brewing?  " 
asked  St.  Clare.  "  That  commotion  is  of  her  rais- 
ing, I  '11  be  bound  !  " 

And,  in  a  moment  after,  Miss  Ophelia,  in  high 
indignation,  came  dragging  the  culprit  along. 

"  Come  out  here,  now  !  "  she  said.  "  I  will  tell 
your  master !  " 

"  What 's  the  case  now  ?  "  asked  Augustine. 

"  The  case  is,  that  I  cannot  be  plagued  with  this 
child,  any  longer  !  It 's  past  all  bearing  ;  flesh  and 
blood  cannot  endure  it !  Here,  I  locked  her  up, 
and  gave  her  a  hymn  to  study ;  and  what  does  she 
do,  but  spy  out  where  I  put  my  key,  and  has  gone 
to  my  bureau,  and  got  a  bonnet-trimming,  and  cut 
it  all  to  pieces,  to  make  dolls'  jackets  !  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it,  in  my  life  !  " 

"  I  told  you,  Cousin,"  said  Marie,  "  that  you  'd  find 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  399 

out  that  these  creatures  can't  be  brought  up,  without 
severity.  If  I  had  my  way,  now,"  she  said,  looking 
reproachfully  at  St.  Clare,  "  I  'd  send  that  child  out, 
and  have  her  thoroughly  whipped  ;  I  'd  have  her 
whipped  till  she  could  n't  stand !  " 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  Tell  me  of 
the  lovely  rule  of  woman!  I  never  saw  above  a 
dozen  women  that  would  n't  half  kill  a  horse,  or  a 
servant,  either,  if  they  had  their  own  way  with  them  1 
— let  alone  a  man." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  this  shilly-shally  way  of  yours,, 
St.  Clare  ! "  said  Marie.  "  Cousin  is  a  woman  of: 
sense,  and  she  sees  it  now,  as  plain  as  I  do." 

Miss  Ophelia  had  just  the  capability  of  indigna- 
tion that  belongs  to  the  thorough-paced  housekeeper,, 
and  this  had  been  pretty  actively  roused  by  the 
artifice  and  wastefulness  of  the  child  ;  in  fact,  many 
of  my  lady  readers  must  own  that  they  should  have 
felt  just  so  in  her  circumstances  ;  but  Marie's  words 
went  beyond  her,  and  she  felt  less  heat. 

"  I  would  n't  have  the  child  treated  so,  for  the 
world,"  she  said ;  "  but,  I  am  sure,  Augustine,  I 
don't  know  what  to  do.  I  've  taught  and  taught ; 
I  've  talked  till  I  'm  tired  ;  I  've  whipped  her ;  I  've 
punished  her  in  every  way  I  can  think  of,  and  still 
she  's  just  what  she  was  at  first." 

"  Come  here,  Tops,  you  monkey  !  "  said  St.  Clare, 
calling  the  child  up  to  him. 

Topsy  came  up  ;  her  round,  hard  eyes  glittering 
and  blinking  with  a  mixture  of  apprehensiveness  and 
their  usual  odd  drollery. 

"  What  makes  you  behave  so  ?  "  said  St.  Clare, 
who  could. not  help  being  amused  with  the  child's 
expression. 

"  Spects  it 's  my  wicked  heart,"  said  Topsy, 
demurely;  "Miss  Feely  says  so." 


4-00  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Don't  you  see  how  much  Miss  Ophelia  has  done 
for  you  ?  She  says  she  has  done  everything  she  can 
think  of." 

"  Lor,  yes,  Mas'r !  old  Missis  used  to  say  so,  too. 
She  whipped  me  a  heap  harder,  and  used  to  pull  my 
har,  and  knock  my  head  agin  the  door ;  but  it  did  n't 
do  me  no  good  !  I  spects,  if  they  's  to  pull  every 
spear  o'  har  out  o'  my  head,  it  would  n't  do  no  good, 
neither, — I 's  so  wicked  !  Laws  !  I 's  nothin  but  a 
nigger,  no  ways  !  " 

"Well,  I  shall  have  to  give  her  up,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia  ;  "  I  can't  have  that  trouble  any  longer." 

"  Well,  I  'd  just  like  to  ask  one  question,"  said  St. 
Clare. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Why,  if  your  Gospel  is  not  strong  enough  to 
save  one  heathen  child,  that  you  can  have  at  home 
here,  all  to  yourself,  what 's  the  use  of  sending  one 
or  two  poor  missionaries  off  with  it  among  thousands 
.of  just  such  ?  I  suppose  this  child  is  about  a  fair 
sample  of  what  thousands  of  your  heathen  are." 

Miss  Ophelia  did  not  make  an  immediate  answer ; 
^and  Eva,  who  had  stood  a  silent  spectator  of  the 
:  scene  thus  far,  made  a  silent  sign  to  Topsy  to  follow 
Jher.  There  was  a  little  glass-room  at  the  corner  of 
the  verandah,  which  St.  Clare  used  as  a  sort  of 
reading-room;  and  Eva  and  Topsy  disappeared  into 
:this  place. 

Jf  What 's  Eva  going  about,  now  ? "  said  St.  Clare ; 
'"  I  mean  to  see." 

And,  advancing  on  tiptoe,  he  lifted  up  a  curtain 
that  covered  the  glass-door,  and  looked  in.  In  a 
moment,  laying  his  finger  on  his  lips,  he  made  a 
silent  gesture  to  Miss  Ophelia  to  come  and  look. 
There  sat  the  two  children  on  the  floor,  with  their 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  40 1 

side  faces  towards  them.  Topsy,  with  her  usual  air 
of  careless  drollery  and  unconcern ;  but,  opposite  to 
her,  Eva,  her  whole  face  fervent  with  feeling,  and 
tears  in  her  large  eyes. 

"  What  does  make  you  so  bad,  Topsy  ?  Why 
won't  you  try  and  be  good  ?  Don't  you  love  any- 
body, Topsy  ? " 

"  Donno  nothing  'bout  love  ;  I  loves  candy  and 
sich,  that  's  all,"  said  Topsy. 

"  But  you  love  your  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  Never  had  none,  ye  know.  I  telled  ye  that, 
Miss  Eva." 

"  O,  I  know,"  said  Eva,  sadly  ;  "  but  had  n't  you 
any  brother,  or  sister,  or  aunt,  or — " 

"  No,  none  on  'em, — never  had  nothing  nor  no- 
body." 

"  But,  Topsy,  if  you  "d  only  try  to  be  good,  you 
might — " 

"  Could  n't  never  be  nothin'  but  a  nigger,  if  I  was 
ever  so  good,"  said  Topsy.  "  If  I  could  be  skinned, 
and  come  white,  I  'd  try  then." 

"  But  people  can  love  you,  if  you  are  black, 
Topsy.  Miss  Ophelia  would  love  you,  if  you  were 
good." 

Topsy  gave  the  short,  blunt  laugh  that  was  her 
common  mode  of  expressing  incredulity. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ? "  said  Eva. 

"  No  ;  she  can't  bar  me,  'cause  I  'm  a  nigger ! — 
she  'd  's  soon  have  a  toad  touch  her  !  There  can't 
nobody  love  niggers,  and  niggers  can't  do  nothin' ! 
I  don't  care,"  said  Topsy,  beginning  to  whistle. 

"  O,  Topsy,  poor  child,  I  love  you  !  "  said  Eva, 
with  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling,  and  laying  her  little 
thin,  white  hand  on  Topsy's  shoulder  ;  "  I  love  you, 
because  you  have  n't  had  any  father,  or  mother,  or 


4-02  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

friends  ; — because  you  've  been  a  poor,  abused 
child  !  I  love  you,  and  I  want  you  to  be  good.  I 
am  very  unwell,  Topsy,  and  I  think  I  shan't  live  a 
great  while  ;  and  it  really  grieves  me,  to  have  you 
be  so  naughty.  I  wish  you  would  try  to  be  good, 
for  my  sake  ; — it  's  only  a  little  while  I  shall  be  with 
you." 

The  round,  keen  eyes  of  the  black  child  were 
overcast  with  tears  ; — -large,  bright  drops  rolled 
heavily  down,  one  by  one,  and  fell  on  the  little 
white  hand.  Yes,  in  that  moment,  a  ray  of  real 
belief,  a  ray  of  heavenly  love,  had  penetrated  the 
darkness  of  her  heathen  soul !  She  laid  her  head 
down  between  her  knees,  and  wept  and  sobbed, — 
while  the  beautiful  child,  bending  over  her,  looked 
like  the  picture  of  some  bright  angel  stooping  to  re- 
claim a  sinner. 

"  Poor  Topsy  !  "  said  Eva,  "  don't  you  know  that 
Jesus  loves  all  alike  ?  He  is  just  as  willing  to  love 
you,  as  me.  He  loves  you  just  as  I  do, — only  more, 
because  He  is  better.  He  will  help  you  to  be  good  ; 
and  you  can  go  to  Heaven  at  last,  and  be  an  angel 
forever,  just  as  much  as  if  you  were  white.  Only 
think  of  it,  Topsy  ! — you  can  be  one  of  those  spirits 
bright,  Uncle  Tom  sings  about." 

"  O,  dear  Miss  Eva,  dear  Miss  Eva ! "  said  the 
child  ;  "  I  will  try,  I  will  try ;  I  never  did  care  noth- 
in'  about  it  before." 

St.  Clare,  at  this  instant,  dropped  the  curtain. 
"  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  mother,"  he  said  to  Miss 
Ophelia.  "  It  is  true  what  she  told  me;  if  we  want 
to  give  sight  to  the  blind,  we  must  be  willing  to  do 
as  Christ  did, — call  them  to  us,  and  put  our  hands 
on  them.''' 

" 1  've  always  had  a  prejudice   against  negroes,'" 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  403 

said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  and  it  's  a  fact,  I  never  could 
bear  to  have  that  child  touch  me ;  but,  I  did  n't 
think  she  knew  it." 

"  Trust  any  child  to  find  that  out,"  said  St.  Clare  ; 
'  'there  's  no  keeping  it  from  them.  But  I  believe- 
that  all  the  trying  in  the  world  to  benefit  a  child,, 
and  all  the  substantial  favors  you  can  do  them,  wilL 
never  excite  one  emotion  of  gratitude,  while  that 
feeling  of  repugnajice  remains  in  the  heart;  it  's  a. 
queer  kind  of  a  fact, — but  so  it  is." 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  can  help  it,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia  ;  "  they  are,  disagreeable  to  me, — this  child 
in  particular, — how  can  I  help  feeling  so  ?  " 

"  Eva  does,  it  seems." 

"  Well,  she  's  so  loving !  After  all,  though,  she  's; 
no  more  than  Christ-like,"  said  Miss  Ophelia ;  "  I 
wish  I  were  like  her.  She  might  teach  me  a  les- 
son." 

"  It  would  n't  be  the  first  time  a  little  child  had 
been  used  to  instruct  an  old  disciple,  if  it  were  so,'* 
said  St.  Clare. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DEATH. 

Weep  not  for  those   whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb, 
In  life's  early  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes. 

Eva's  bedroom  was  a  spacious  apartment,  which,, 
like  all  the  other  rooms  in  the  house,  opened  on  to 
the  broad  verandah.  The  room  communicated,  on 
one  side,  with  her  father  and  mother's  apartment  \ 
on  the  other,  with  that  appropriated  to  Miss  Ophelia. 
St.  Clare  had  gratified  his  own  eye  and  taste,  in  fur- 
nishing this  room  in  a  style  that  had  a  peculiar  keep- 
ing with  the  character  of  her  for  whom   it  was  in- 


404  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :  OR, 

tended.  The  windows  were  hung  with  curtains  of 
rose-colored  and  white  muslin,  the  floor  was  spread 
with  a  matting  which  had  been  ordered  in  Paris,  to 
a  pattern  of  his  own  device,  having  round  it  a  border 
of  rose-buds  and  leaves,  and  a  centre-piece  with  full- 
blown roses.  The  bedstead,  chairs,  and  lounges, 
were  of  bamboo,  wrought  in  peculiarly  graceful  and 
fanciful  patterns.  Over  the  head  of  the  bed  was  an 
alabaster  bracket,  on  which  a  beautiful  sculptured 
angel  stood,  with  drooping  wings,  holding  out  a 
crown  of  myrtle-leaves.  From  this  depended,  over 
the  bed,  light  curtains  of  rose-colored  gauze,  striped 
with  silver,  supplying  that  protection  from  mosquitos 
which  is  an  indispensable  addition  to  all  sleeping 
accommodation  in  that  climate.  The  graceful  bam- 
boo lounges  were  amply  supplied  with  cushions  of 
rose-colored  damask,  while  over  them,  depending 
from  the  hands  of  sculptured  figures,  were  gauze 
curtains  similar  to  those  of  the  bed.  A  light,  fanci- 
ful bamboo  table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
where  a  Parian  vase,  wrought  in  the  shape  of  a  white 
lily,  with  its  buds,  stood,  ever  filled  with  flowers. 
On  this  table  lay  Eva's  books  and  little  trinkets, 
with  an  elegantly  wrought  alabaster  writing-stand, 
which  her  father  had  supplied  to  her  when  he  saw 
her  trying  to  improve  herself  in  writing.  There  was 
a  fireplace  in  the  room,  and  on  the  marble  mantel 
above  stood  a  beautifully  wrought  statuette  of  Jesus 
receiving  little  children,  and  on  either  side  marble 
vases,  for  which  it  was  Tom's  pride  and  delight  to 
offer  bouquets  every  morning.  Two  or  three  ex- 
quisite paintings  of  children,  in  various  attitudes, 
embellished  the  wall.  In  short,  the  eye  could  turn 
nowhere  without  meeting  images  of  childhood,  of 
beauty,    and    of   peace.       Those   little    eyes    never 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  405 

opened,  in  the  morning  light,  without  falling  on 
something  which  suggested  to  the  heart  soothing 
and  beautiful  thoughts. 

The  deceitful  strength  which  had  buoyed  Eva  up 
for  a  little  while  was  fast  passing  away  ;  seldom 
and  more  seldom  her  light  footstep  was  heard  in 
the  verandah,  and  oftener  and  oftener  she  was 
found  reclined  on  a  little  lounge  by  the  open  window, 
iier  large,  deep  eyes  fixed  on  the  rising  and  falling 
waters  of  the  lake. 

It  was  towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  as 
she  was  so  reclining, — her  Bible  half  open,  her  little 
transparent  fingers  lying  listlessly  between  the 
leaves, — suddenly  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  in 
sharp  tones,  in  the  verandah. 

"  What  now,  you  baggage  ! — what  new  piece  of 
mischief  !  You  've  been  picking  the  flowers,  hey  ?  " 
and  Eva  heard  the  sound  of  a  smart  slap. 

"  Law,  Missis  ! — they  's  for  Miss  Eva,"  she  heard 
a  voice  say,  which  she  knew  belonged  to  Topsy. 

"Miss  Eva!  A  pretty  excuse! — you  suppose 
she  wants  your  flowers,  you  good-for-nothing  nigger  ? 
Get  along  off  with  you  !  " 

In  a  moment,  Eva  was  off  from  her  lounge,  and 
In  the  verandah. 

"  O,  don't,  mother  !  I  should  like  the  flowers  ;  do 
give  them  to  me  ;  I  want  them !  " 

"  Why,  Eva,  your  room  is  full  now." 

"  I  can't  have  too  many,"  said  Eva.  "  Topsy,  do 
bring  them  here." 

Topsy,  who  had  stood  sullenly,  holding  down  her 
head,  now  came  up  and  offered  her  flowers.  She 
-did  it  with  a  look  of  hesitation  and  bashfulness, 
quite  unlike  the  eldrich  boldness  and  brightness 
'which  was  usual  with  her. 


406  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  It  's  a  beautiful  bouquet !  "  said  Eva,  looking  at 
it. 

It  was  rather  a  singular  one, — a  brilliant  scarlet 
geranium,  and  one  single  white  japonica,  with  its 
glossy  leaves.  It  was  tied  up  with  an  evident  eye 
to  the  contrast  of  color,  and  the  arrangement  of 
every  leaf  had  carefully  been  studied. 

Topsy  looked  pleased,  as  Eva  said, — "Topsy, 
you  arrange  flowers  very  prettily.  Here,"  she  said, 
"  is  this  vase  I  have  n't  any  flowers  for.  I  wish, 
you  'd  arrange  something  every  day  for  it." 

"  Well,  that  's  odd  !  "  said  Marie.  "  What  in  the 
world  do  you  want  that  for  ?"  I 

"  Never  mind,  mamma  j  you  'd  as  lief  as  not 
Topsy  should  do  it, — had  you  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  anything  you  please,  dear !  Topsy, 
you  hear  your  young  mistress  ; — see  that  you  mind." 

Topsy  made  a  short  courtesy,  and  looked  down  ; 
and,  as  she  turned  away,  Eva  saw  a  tear  roll  down 
her  dark  cheek. 

"  You  see,  mamma,  I  knew  poor  Topsy  wanted 
to  do  something  for  me,"  said  Eva  to  her  mother. 

"  O,  nonsense  !  it  's  only  because  she  likes  to  do^ 
mischief.  She  knows  she  must  n't  pick  flowers, — 
so  she  does  it ;  that  's  all  there  is  to  it.  But,  if  you 
fancy  to  have  her  pluck  them,  so  be  it." 

"  Mamma,  I  think  Topsy  is  different  from  what 
she  used  to  be  ;  she  's  trying  to  be  a  good  girl." 

"  She  '11  have  to  try  a  good  while  before  she  gets 
to  be  good,"  said  Marie,  with  a  careless  laugh. 

"Well,  you  know,  mamma,  poor  Topsy!  every- 
thing has  always  been  against  her." 

"  Not  since  she  's  been  here,  I  'm  sure.  If  she 
has  n't  been  talked  to,  and  preached  to,  and  every 
earthly  thing  done  that    anybody  could   do ; — and 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  407 

she's  just  so  ugly,  and  always  will  be;  you  can't 
make  anything  of  the^  creature  ! " 

"  But,  mamma,  it  's  so  different  to  be  brought  up 
as  I  've  been,  with  so  many  friends,  so  many  things 
to  make  me  good  and  happy ;  and  to  be  brought  up 
as  she  's  been,  all  the  time,  till  she  came  here  ! " 

"  Most  likely,"  said  Marie,  yawning, — "  dear  me, 
how  hot  it  is  !  " 

"  Mamma,  you  believe,  don't  you,  that  Topsy 
could  become  an  angel,  as  well  as  any  of  us,  if  she 
were  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  Topsy  !  what  a  ridiculous  idea  !  Nobody  but 
you  would  ever  think  of  it.  I  suppose  she  could, 
though." 

"  But,  mamma,  is  n't  God  her  father,  as  much  as 
ours  ?     Is  n't  Jesus  her  Saviour  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  may  be.  I  suppose  God  made  every- 
body," said  Marie.  "  Where  is  my  smelling- 
bottle  ? " 

"  It  s  such  a  pity, — oh  !  such  a  pity !  "  said  Eva, 
looking  out  on  the  distant  lake,  and  speaking  half 
to  herself. 

"  What  's  a  pity  ?  "  said  Marie. 

"Why,  that  any  one,  who  could  be  a  bright  angel, 
and  live  with  angels,  should  go  all  down,  down, 
down,  and  nobody  help  them  ! — oh,  dear  !  " 

"  Well,  we  can't  help  it ;  it  's  no  use  worrying, 
Eva  !  I  don't  know  what  's  to  be  done  ;  we  ought 
to  be  thankful  for  our  own  advantages." 

"  I  hardly  can  be,"  said  Eva,  "  I  'm  so  sorry  to 
think  of  poor  folks  that  have  n't  any." 

"  That  's  odd  enough,"  said  Marie  ; — "  I  'm  sure 
my  religion  makes  me  thankful  for  my  advantages." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Eva,  "  I  want  to  have  some  of 
my  hair  cut  off, — a  good  deal  of  it." 


408  UNCLE  tom's  cabix  :  OR, 

"  What  for  ? "  said  Marie. 

"  Mamma,  I  want  to  give  some  away  to  my 
friends,  while  I  am  able  to  give  it  to  them  myself. 
Won't  you  ask  aunty  to  come  and  cut  it  for  me  ?  " 

Marie  raised  her  voice,  and  called  Miss  Ophelia,, 
from  the  other  room. 

The  child  half  rose  from  her  pillow  as  she  came, 
in,  and,  shaking  down  her  long  golden-brown  curls, 
said,  rather  playfully,  "  Come,  aunty,  shear  the 
sheep ! " 

"  What  's  that  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  who  just  then 
entered  with  some  fruit  he  had  been  out  to  get  for 
her. 

"  Papa,  I  just  want  aunty  to  cut  off  some  of  my 
hair ; — there  's  too  much  of  it,  and  it  makes  my 
head  hot.    Besides,  I  want  to  give  some  of  it  away.'7" 

Miss  Ophelia  came,  with  her  scissors. 

"  Take  care, — don't  spoil  the  looks  of  it ! "  said 
her  father  ;  "  cut  underneath,  where  it  won't  show. 
Eva's  curls  are  my  pride." 

"  O,  papa  !  "  said  Eva,  sadly. 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  them  kept  handsome  against: 
he  time  I  take  you  up  to  your  uncle's  plantation, 
to  see   Cousin   Henrique,"  said   St.  Clare,  in  a  gay 
tone. 

"  I  shall  never  go  there,  papa  ; — I  am  going  to  a. 
better  country.     O,  do  believe  me !     Don't  you  see, 
papa,  that  I  get  weaker,  every  day  ? " 

"Why  do  you  insist  that  I  shall  believe  such  a 
cruel  thing,  Eva  ?  "  said  her  father. 

"  Only  because  it  is  true,  papa  :  and,  if  you  will 
believe  it  now,  perhaps  you  will  get  to  feel  about  it 
as  I  do." 

St.  Clare  closed  his  lips,  and  stood  gloomily 
eying  the  long,  beautiful  curls,  which,  as  they  were 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  409 

separated  from  the  child's  head,  were  laid,  one  by 
one,  in  her  lap.  She  raised  them  up,  looked 
earnestly  at  them,  twined  them  around  her  thin 
fingers,  and  looked,  from  time  to  time,  anxiously  at 
her  father. 

"  It 's  just  what  I  've  been  foreboding  !  "  said 
Marie ;  "  it 's  just  what  has  been  preying  on  my 
health,  from  day  to  day,  bringing  me  downward  to 
the  grave,  though  nobody  regards  it.  I  have  seen 
this,  long.  St.  Clare,  you  will  see,  after  a  while, 
that  I  was  right." 

"  Which  will  afford  you  great  consolation,  no 
doubt ! "  said  St.  Clare,  in  a  dry,  bitter  tone. 

Marie  lay  back  on  a  lounge,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  cambric  handkerchief. 

Eva's  clear  blue  eye  looked  earnestly  from  one  to 
the  other.  It  was  the  calm,  comprehending  gaze  of 
a  soul  half  loosed  from  its  earthly  bonds ;  it  was 
evident  she  saw,  felt,  and  appreciated,  the  difference 
between  the  two. 

She  beckoned  with  her  hand  to  her  father.  He 
came,  and  sat  down  by  her. 

"  Papa,  my  strength  fades  away  every  day,  and  I 
know  I  must  go.  There  are  some  things  I  want  to 
say  and  do, — that  I  ought  to  do  ;  and  you  are  so  un- 
willing to  have  me  speak  a  word  on  this  subject. 
But  it  must  come  ;  there  's  no  putting  it  off.  Do  be 
willing  I  should  speak  now  !  " 

"  My  child,  I  a?u  willing  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  cover- 
ing his  eyes  with  one  hand,  and  holding  up  Eva's 
hand  with  the  other. 

"  Then,  I  want  to  see  all  our  people  together.  I 
have  some  things  I  must  say  to  them,"  said  Eva. 

"  Well"  said  St.  Clare,  in  a  tone  of  dry  endur- 
ance. 


41  o  UNCLE  tom's  CABIN  i   OR, 

Miss  Ophelia  despatched  a  messenger,  and  soon 
the  whole  of  the  servants  were  convened  in  the 
room. 

Eva  lay  back  on  her  pillows  ;  her  hair  hanging 
loosely  about  her  face,  her  crimson  cheeks  contrast- 
ing painfully  with  the  intense  whitenesss  of  her  com- 
plexion and  the  thin  contour  of  her  limbs  and 
features,  and  her  large,  soul-like  eyes  fixed  earn- 
estly on  every  one. 

The  servants  were  struck  with  a  sudden  emotion. 
The  spiritual  face,  the  long  locks  of  hair  cut  off  and 
lying  by  her,  her  father's  averted  face,  and  Marie's 
sobs,  struck  at  once  upon  the  feelings  of  a  sensitive 
and  impressible  race  ;  and,  as  they  came  in,  they 
looked  one  on  another,  sighed,  and  shook  their 
heads.  There  was  a  deep  silence,  like  that  of  a 
funeral. 

Eva  raised  herself,  and  looked  long  and  earnestly 
Tound  at  every  one.  All  looked  sad  and  apprehen- 
sive. Many  of  the  women  hid  their  faces  in  their 
aprons. 

"  I  sent  for  you  all,  my  dear  friends,"  said  Eva, 
*' because  I  love  you.  I  love  you  all ;  and  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you,  which  I  want  you  always  to 

remember I  am  going  to  leave  you.     In  a 

few  more  weeks,  you  will  see  me  no  more — " 

Here  the  child  was  interrupted  by  bursts  of  groans, 
sobs,  and  lamentations,  which  broke  from  all  pres- 
ent, and  in  which  her  slender  voice  was  lost  en- 
tirely. She  waited  a  moment,  and  then,  speaking 
in  a  tone  that  checked  the  sobs  of  all,  she  said, 

"  If  you  love  me,  you  must  not  interrupt  me  so. 
Listen  to  what  I  say.     I  want  to  speak  to  you  about 

your  souls Many  of  you,  I  am  afraid,  are 

very  careless.     You    are    thinking  only  about  this 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  411 

world.  I  want  you  to  remember  that  there  is  a 
beautiful  world,  where  Jesus  is.  I  am  going  there, 
and  you  can  go  there.  It  is  for  you,  as  much  as 
me.  But,  if  you  want  to  go  there,  you  must  not 
live  idle,  careless,  thoughtless  lives.  You  must  be 
Christians.     You  must  remember  that  each  one  of 

you  can  become  angels,  and  be  angels  forever 

If  you  want  to  be  Christians,  Jesus  will  help  you. 
You  must  pray  to  him  ;  you  must  read — " 

The  child  checked  herself,  looked  piteously  at 
them,  and  said,  sorrowfully, 

"  O,  dear  !  you  cant  read, — poor  souls  ! "  and  she 
hid  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  sobbed,  while  many  a 
smothered  sob  from  those  she  was  addressing,  who 
were  kneeling  on  the  floor,  aroused  her. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  raising  her  face  and 
smiling  brightly  through  her  tears,  "  I  have  prayed 
for  you ;  and  I  know  Jesus  will  help  you,  even  if 
you  can't  read.  Try  all  to  do  the  best  you  can  ; 
pray  every  day ;  ask  Him  to  help  you,  and  get  the 
Bible  read  to  you  whenever  you  can  ;  and  I  think  I 
shall  see  you  all  in  heaven." 

"  Amen,"  was  the  murmured  response  from  the 
lips  of  Tom  and  Mammy,  and  some  of  the  elder 
ones,  who  belonged  to  the  Methodist  church.  The 
younger  and  more  thoughtless  ones,  for  the  time 
completely  overcome,  were  sobbing,  with  their  heads 
bowed  upon  their  knees. 

"  I  know,"  said  Eva,  "you  all  love  me." 

"  Yes  ;  oh,  yes  !  indeed  we  do  !  Lord  bless  her  !  " 
was  the  involuntary  answer  of  all. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  do  !     There  is  n't   one  of  you 

that  has  n't  always  been  very  kind    to    me  ;  and  I 

want  to  give  you  something  that,  when  you  look  at, 

you  shall  always  remember  me.     I  'm  going  to  give 

28 


412  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    ORy 

all  of  you  a  curl  of  my  hair  ,*  and,  when  you  look  at 
it,  think  that  I  loved  you  and  am  gone  to  heaven, 
and  that  I  want  to  see  you  all  there." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scene,  as,  with 
tears  and  sobs,  they  gathered  round  the  little 
creature,  and  took  from  her  hands  what  seemed  to 
them  a  last  mark  of  her  love.  They  fell  on  their 
knees  ;  they  sobbed,  and  prayed,  and  kissed  the  hem 
of  her  garment ;  and  the  elder  ones  poured  forth 
words  of  endearment,  mingled  in  prayers  and  bless- 
ings, after  the  manner  of  their  susceptible  race. 

As  each  one  took  their  gift,  Miss  Ophelia,  who 
was  apprehensive  for  the  effect  of  all  this  excitement 
on  her  little  patient,  signed  to  each  one  to  pass  out 
of  the  apartment. 

At  last,  all  were  gone  but  Tom  and  Mammy. 

"  Here,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Eva,  "  is  a  beautiful 
one  for  you.  O,  I  am  so  happy,  Uncle  Tom,  to 
think  I  shall  see  you  in  heaven, — for  I'm  sure  I 
shall ;  and  Mammy, — dear,  good,  kind  Mammy  ]  " 
she  said,  fondly  throwing  her  arms  round  her  old 
nurse, — "  I  know  you  '11  be  there,  too." 

"  O,  Miss  Eva,  don't  see  how  I  can  live  without 
ye,  no  how  !  "  said  the  faithful  creature.  "  'Pears 
like  it 's  just  taking  everything  off  the  place  to 
oncet !  "  and  Mammy  gave  way  to  a  passion  of 
grief. 

Miss  Ophelia  pushed  her  and  Tom  gently  from 
the  apartment,  and  thought  they  were  all  gone  ;  but, 
as  she  turned,  Topsy  was  standing  there. 

"  Where  did  you  start  up  from  ?  "  she  said,  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  was  here,"  said  Topsy,  wiping  the  tears  from 
her  eyes.  "  O,  Miss  Eva,  I  've  been  a  bad  girl ; 
but  won't  you  give  me  one,  too  ?  " 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY,  413 

"  Yes,  poor  Topsy  !  to  be  sure,  I  will.  There — 
every  time  you  look  at  that,  think  that  I  love  you, 
and  wanted  you  to  be  a  good  girl  ! " 

"  O,  Miss  Eva,  I  is  tryin' ! "  said  Topsy,  earnestly ; 
"  but,  Lor,  it 's  so  hard  to  be  good  !  'Pears  like  I 
an't  used  to  it,  no  ways  !  " 

"  Jesus  knows  it,  Topsy ;  he  is  sorry  for  you  ;  he 
will  help  you." 

Topsy,  with  her  eyes  hid  in  her  apron,  was  silently 
passed  from  the  apartment  by  Miss  Ophelia ;  but, 
as  she  went,  she  hid  the  precious  curl  in  her  bosom. 

All  being  gone,  Miss  Ophelia  shut  the  door. 
That  worthy  lady  had  wiped  away  many  tears  of  her 
own,  during  the  scene ;  but  concern  for  the  conse- 
quence of  such  an  excitement  to  her  young  charge 
was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

St.  Clare  had  been  sitting,  during  the  whole  time, 
with  his  hands  shading  his  eyes,  in  the  same  attitude. 
When  they  were  all  gone,  he  sat  so  still. 

"  Papa  ! "  said  Eva,  gently,  laying  her  hand  on  his. 

He  gave  a  sudden  start  and  shiver  ;  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  Dear  papa !  "  said  Eva. 

"  I  cannot"  said  St.  Clare,  rising,  "I  cannot  have 
it  so !  The  Almighty  hath  dealt  very  bitterly  with 
me  !  "  and  St.  Clare  pronounced  these  words  with  a 
bitter  emphasis,  indeed. 

"  Augustine  !  has  not  God  a  right  to  do  what  he 
will  with  his  own  ? "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  that  does  n't  make  it  any  easier 
to  bear,"  said  he,  with  a  dry,  hard,  tearless  manner, 
as  he  turned  away. 

"  Papa,  you  break  my  heart ! "  said  -Eva,  rising 
and  throwing  herself  into  his  arms  ;  "  you  must  not 
feel  so  !  "  and  the  child  sobbed   and  wept  with  a 


414  UNCLE  tom's  cabin:  or, 

violence  which  alarmed  them  all,  and  turned  her 
father's  thoughts  at  once  to  another  channel. 

"  There,  Eva, — there,  dearest !  Hush  !  hush  !  I 
was  wrong ;  I  was  wicked.  I  will  feel  any  way,  do 
anyway, — only  don't  distress  yourself  ;  don't  sob  so. 
I  will  be  resigned  ;  I  was  wicked  to  speak  as  I  did." 

Eva  soon  lay  like  a  wearied  dove  in  her  father's 
arms  ;  and  he,  bending  over  her,  soothed  her  by 
every  tender  word  he  could  think  of. 

Marie  rose  and  threw  herself  out  of  the  apartment 
into  her  own,  when  she  fell  into  violent  hysterics. 

"You  didn't  give  me  a  curl,  Eva,"  said  her 
father,  smiling  sadly. 

"  They  are  all  yours,  papa,"  said  she,  smiling, — 
"  yours  and  mamma's ;  and  you  must  give  dear 
aunty  as  many  as  she  wants.  I  only  gave  them  to 
our  poor  people  myself,  because  you  know,  papa, 
they  might  be  forgotten  when  I  am  gone,  and  be- 
cause I  hoped  it  might  help  them  remember 

You  are  a  Christian,  are  you  not,  papa  ? "  said  Eva, 
doubtfully. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  You  are  so  good,  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  help  it." 

"  What  is  being  a  Christian,  Eva  ? " 

"  Loving  Christ  most  of  all,"  said  Eva. 

"  Do  you,  Eva  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  do." 

"  You  never  saw  him,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  said  Eva.  "  I  be- 
lieve him,  and  in  a  few  days  I  shall  see  him ;  "  and 
the  young  face  grew  fervent,  radiant  with  joy. 

St.  Clare  said  no  more.  It  was  a  feeling  which 
he  had  seen  before  in  his  mother ;  but  no  chord 
within  vibrated  to  it. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  415 

Eva,  after  this,  declined  rapidly ;  there  was  no 
more  any  doubt  of  the  event ;  the  fondest  hope 
could  not  be  blinded.  Her  beautiful  room  was 
avowedly  a  sick  room  ;  and  Miss  Ophelia  day  and 
night  performed  the  duties  of  a  nurse, — and  never 
did  her  friends  appreciate  her  value  more  than  in. 
that  capacity.  With  so  well-trained  a  hand  and  eye, 
such  perfect  adroitness  and  practice  in  every  art 
which  could  promote  neatness  and  comfort,  and 
keep  out  of  sight  every  disagreeable  incident  of  sick- 
ness,— with  such  a  perfect  sense  of  time,  such  a  clear, 
untroubled  head,  such  exact  accuracy  in  remember- 
ing every  prescription  and  direction  of  the  doctors, — 
she  was  everything  to  him.  They  who  had  shrugged 
their  shoulders  at  her  little  peculiarities  and  set- 
nesses,  so  unlike  the  careless  freedom  of  southern 
manners,  acknowledged  that  now  she  was  the  exact 
person  that  was  wanted. 

Uncle  Tom  was  much  in  Eva's  room.  The  child 
suffered  much  from  nervous  restlessness,  and  it  was 
a  relief  to  her  to  be  carried ;  and  it  was  Tom's 
greatest  delight  to  carry  her  little  frail  form  in  his 
arms,  resting  on  a  pillow,  now  up  and  down  her 
room,  now  out  into  the  verandah ;  and  when  the 
fresh  sea-breezes  blew  from  the  lake, — and  the  child 
felt  freshest  in  the  morning, — he  would  sometimes 
walk  with  her  under  the  orange-trees  in  the  garden, 
or,  sitting  down  in  some  of  their  old  seats,  sing  to 
her  their  favorite  old  hymns. 

Her  father  often  did  the  same  thing ;  but  his 
frame  was  slighter,  and  when  he  was  weary,  Eva 
would  say  to  him, 

"  O,  papa,  let  Tom  take  me.  Poor  fellow !  it 
pleases  him  ;  and  you  know  it  's  all  he  can  do  now, 
and  he  wants  to  do  something  !  " 


416  "UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  So  do  I,  Eva  !  "  said  her  father. 

"  Well,  papa,  you  can  do  everything,  and  are 
everything  to  me.  You  read  to  me, — you  sit  up 
nights, — and  Tom  has  only  this  one  thing,  and  his 
singing ;  and  I  know,  too,  he  does  it  easier  than  you 
can.     He  carries  me  so  strong  !  " 

The  desire  to  do  something  was  not  confined  to 
Tom.  Every  servant  in  the  establishment  showed 
the  same  feeling,  and  in  their  way  did  what  they 
could. 

Poor  Mammy's  heart  yearned  towards  her  dar- 
ling ;  but  she  found  no  opportunity,  night  or  day, 
as  Marie  declared  that  the  state  of  her  mind  was 
such,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  rest ;  and,  of 
course,  it  was  against  her  principles  to  let  any  one 
else  rest.  Twenty  times  in  a  night,  Mammy  would 
be  roused  to  rub  her  feet,  to  bathe  her  head,  to  find 
her  pocket-handkerchief,  to  see  what  the  noise  was 
in  Eva's  room,  to  let  down  a  curtain  because  it  was 
too  light,  or  to  put  it  up  because  it  was  too  dark  ; 
and,  in  the  day-time,  when  she  longed  to  have  some 
share  in  the  nursing  of  her  pet,  Marie  seemed  un- 
usually ingenious  in  keeping  her  busy  anywhere  and 
everywhere  all  over  the  house,  or  about  her  own 
person ;  so  that  stolen  interviews  and  momentary, 
glimpses  were  all  she  could  obtain. 

"  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  be  particularly  careful  of 
myself,  now,"  she  would  say,  "  feeble  as  I  am,  and 
with  the  whole  care  and  nursing  of  that  dear  child 
upon  me." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  I  thought 
our  cousin  relieved  you  of  that." 

"You  talk  like  a  man,  St.  Clare, — just  as  if  a 
mother  could  be  relieved  of  the  care  of  a  child  in 
that   state  ;  but,  then,  it 's  all  alike, — no   one  ever 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  417 

knows  what  I  feel !  I  can't  throw  things  off,  as  you 
do." 

St.  Clare  smiled.  You  must  excuse  him,  he 
couldn't  help  it, — for  St.  Clare  could  smile  yet. 
For  so  bright  and  placid  was  the  farewell  voyage  of 
the  little  spirit, — by  such  sweet  and  fragrant  breezes 
was  the  small  bark  borne  towards  the  heavenly 
shores, — that  it  was  impossible  to  realize  that  it  was 
death  that  was  approaching.  The  child  felt  no 
pain, — only  a  tranquil,  soft  weakness,  daily  and 
almost  insensibly  increasing ;  and  she  was  so  beau- 
tiful, so  loving,  so  trustful,  so  happy,  that  one  could 
not  resist  the  soothing  influence  of  that  air  of  inno- 
cence and  peace  which  seemed  to  breathe  around 
her.  St.  Clare  found  a  strange  calm  coming  over 
him.  It  was  not  hope, — that  was  impossible  ;  it 
was  not  resignation ;  it  was  only  a  calm  resting  in 
the  present,  which  seemed  so  beautiful  that  he 
wished  to  think  of  no  future.  It  was  like  that  hush 
of  spirit  which  we  feel  amid  the  bright,  mild  woods 
of  autumn,  when  the  bright  hectic  flush  is  on  the 
trees,  and  the  last  lingering  flowers  by  the  brook ; 
and  we  joy  in  it  all  the  more,  because  we  know  that 
soon  it  will  all  pass  away. 

The  friend  who  knew  most  of  Eva's  own  imagin- 
ings and  foreshadowings  was  her  faithful  bearer, 
Tom.  To  him  she  said  what  she  would  not  disturb 
her  father  by  saying.  To  him  she  imparted  those 
mysterious  intimations  which  the  soul  feels,  as  the 
cords  begin  to  unbind,  ere  it  leaves  its  clay  for- 
ever. 

Tom,  at  last,  would  not  sleep  in  his  room,  but  lay 
all  night  in  the  outer  verandah,  ready  to  rouse  at 
every  call. 

"  Uncle  Tom,  what  alive  have  you  taken  to  sleep- 


41 8  UNCLE  tom's   cabin  :  OR, 

ing  anywhere  and  everywhere,  like  a  dog,  for  ?  f5 
said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  I  thought  you  was  one  of  the 
orderly  sort,  that  liked  to  lie  in  bed  in  a  Christian, 
way." 

"  I  do,  Miss  Feely,"  said  Tom,  mysteriously.  "  I 
do,  but  now — " 

«  Well,  what  now  ?  " 

"  We  must  n't  speak  loud ;  Mas'r  St.  Clare  won't. 
hear  on  't ;  but  Miss  Feely,  you  know  there  must, 
be  somebody  watchin'  for  the  bridegroom." 

"  WThat  do  you  mean,  Tom  ?  " 

"  You  know  it  says  in  Scripture,  f  At  midnight 
there  was  a  great  cry  made.  Behold,  the  bridegroom, 
cometh.'  That  's  what  I  'm  spectin'  now,  every- 
night,  Miss  Feely, — and  I  could  n't  sleep  out  o'~ 
hearin',  no  ways." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Tom,  what  makes  you  think  so  ? " 

"Miss  Eva,  she  talks  to  me.  The  Lord,  he  sends- 
his.  messenger  in  the  soul.  I  must  be  thar,  Miss- 
Feely  ;  for  when  that  ar  blessed  child  goes  into  the 
kingdom,  they'll  open  the  door  so  wide,  we'll  all  get 
a  look  in  at  the  glory,  Miss  Feely." 

"  Uncle  Tom,  did  Miss  Eva  say  she  felt  more  un- 
well than  usual  to-night  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  she  telled  me,  this  morning,  she  was 
coming  nearer, — thar  's  them  that  tells  it  to  the 
child,  Miss  Feely.  It  's  the  angels, — '  it  's  the 
trumpet  sound  before  the  break  o'  day,'  "  said  Tom, 
quoting  from  a  favorite  hymn. 

This  dialogue  passed  between  Miss  Ophelia  and 
Tom,  between  ten  and  eleven,  one  evening,  after 
her  arrangements  had  all  been  made  for  the  night, 
when,  on  going  to  bolt  her  outer  door,  she  found 
Tom  stretched  along  by  it,  in  the  outer  verandah. 

She  was    not  nervous    or  impressible ;    but   the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  419 

solemn,  heartfelt  manner  struck  her.  Eva  had  been 
unusually  bright  and  cheerful  that  afternoon,  and 
had  sat  raised  in  her  bed,  and  looked  over  all  her 
little  trinkets  and  precious  things,  and  designated 
the  friends  to  whom  she  would  have  them  given  ; 
and  her  manner  was  more  animated,  and  her  voice 
more  natural,  than  they  had  known  it  for  weeks. 
Her  father  had  been  in,  in  the  evening,  and  hr.d 
said  that  Eva  appeared  more  like  her  former  self 
than  ever  she  had  done  since  her  sickness;  and 
when  he  kissed  her  for  the  night,  he  said  to  Miss 
Ophelia, — "  Cousin,  we  may  keep  her  with  us,  after 
all;  she  is  certainly  better  ; "  and  he  had  retired 
with  a  lighter  heart  in  his  bosom  than  he  had  had 
there  for  weeks. 

But  at  midnight, — strange,  mystic  hour  ! — when 
the  veil  between  the  frail  present  and  the  eternal 
future  grows  thin, — then  came  the  messenger  ! 

There  was  a  sound  in  that  chamber,  first  of  one 
who  stepped  quickly.  It  was  Miss  Ophelia,  who 
had  resolved  to  sit  up  all  night  with  her  little  charge, 
and  who,  at  the  turn  of  the  night,  had  discerned  what 
experienced  nurses  significantly  call  "a  change." 
The  outer  door  was  quickly  opened,  and  Tom,  who 
was  watching  outside,  was  on  the  alert,  in  a  moment. 

"  Go  for  the  doctor,  Tom !  lose  not  a  moment," 
said  Miss  Ophelia ;  and,  stepping  across  the  room, 
she  rapped  at  St.  Clare's  door. 

"  Cousin,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  come." 

Those  words  fell  on  his  heart  like  clods  upon  a 
coffin.  Why  did  they  ?  He  was  up  and  in  the  room 
in  an  instant,  and  bending  over  Eva,  who  still  slept. 

What  was  it  he  saw  that  made  his  heart  stand 
still  ?  Why  was  no  word  spoken  between  the  two  ? 
Thou  canst  say,  who  hast  seen  that  same  expression 


/^.20  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

on  the  face  dearest  to  thee  ; — that  look  indescrib- 
able, hopeless,  unmistakable,  that  says  to  thee  that 
thy  beloved  is  no  longer  thine. 

On  the  face  of  the  child,  however,  there  was  no 
ghastly  imprint, — only  a  high  and  almost  sublime 
•expression,— the  overshadowing  presence  of  spiritual 
natures,  the  dawning  of  immortal  life  in  that  childish 
isoul. 

They  stood  there  so  still,  gazing  upon  her,  that 
even  the  ticking  of  the  watch  seemed  too  loud.  In  a 
few  moments,  Tom  returned,  with  the  doctor.  He 
entered,  gave  one  look,  and  stood  silent  as  the  rest. 

"  When  did  this  change  take  place  ?  "  said  he,  in 
a  low  whisper,  to  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  About  the  turn  of  the  night,"  was  the  reply. 

Marie,  roused  by  the  entrance  of  the  doctor,  ap- 
peared, hurriedly,  from  the  next  room. 

"  Augustine  !  Cousin  ! — O  ! — what !  "  she  hur- 
riedly began. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  hoarsely  ;  "  she  is  dy- 
ing /" 

Mammy  heard  the  words,  and  flew  to  awaken  the 
servants.  The  house  was  soon  roused, — lights  were 
seen,  footsteps  heard,  anxious  faces  thronged  the 
verandah,  and  looked  tearfully  through  the  glass 
doors;  but  St.  Clare  heard  and  said  nothing, — he 
saw  only  that  look  on  the  face  of  the  little  sleeper. 

"  O,  if  she  would  only  wake,  and  speak  once 
more  !  "  he  said ;  and,  stooping  over  her,  he  spoke 
in  her  ear, — "  Eva,  darling!  * 

The  large  blue  eyes  unclosed, — a  smile  passed 
over  her  face  ; — she  tried  to  raise  her  head,  and  to 
speak. 

"  Do  you  know  me,  Eva  ?  " 

"  Dear  papa,*'  said  the  child,  with  a  last  effort, 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  42  r 

throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck.  In  a  moment 
they  dropped  again ;  and,  as  St.  Clare  raised  his 
Jhead,  he  saw  a  spasm  of  mortal  agony  pass  over  the 
face, — she  struggled  for  breath,  and  threw  up  her 
little  hands. 

"  O,  God,  this  is  dreadful ! "  he  said,  turning 
away  in  agony,  and  wringing  Tom's  hand,  scarce 
conscious  what  he  was  doing,  "  O,  Tom,  my  boy, 
it  is  killing  me  !  " 

Tom  had  his  master's  hands  between  his  own ; 
and,  with  tears  streaming  down  his  dark  cheeks, 
looked  up  for  help  where  he  had  always  been  used 
to  look. 

"  Pray  that  this  may  .be  cut  short !  "  said  St. 
Clare, — "  this  wrings  my  heart." 

"  O,  bless  the  Lord !  it 's  over, — it 's  over,  dear 
Master  !  "  said  Tom  ;  "  look  at  her." 

The  child  lay  panting  on  her  pillows,  as  one 
exhausted, — the  large  clear  eyes  rolled  up  and  fixed. 
Ah,  what  said  those  eyes,  that  spoke  so  much  of 
heaven  ?  Earth  was  past,  and  earthly  pain  ;  but  so 
solemn,  so  mysterious,  was  the  triumphant  bright- 
ness of  that  face,  that  it  checked  even  the  sobs  of 
sorrow.  They  pressed  around  her,  in  breathless 
stillness. 

"  Eva,"  said  St.  Clare,  gently. 

She  did  not  hear. 

"  O,  Eva,  tell  us  what  you  see  !  What  is  it  ?  " 
said  her  father. 

A  bright,  a  glorious  smile  passed  over  her  face, 
and  she  said,  brokenly, — - '  O  !  love, — joy, — peace  !  " 
gave  one  sigh,  and  passed  from  death  unto  life  ! 

"  Farewell,  beloved  child !  the  bright,  eternal 
doors  have  closed  after  thee ;  we  shall  see  thy  sweet 
face  no  more.     O,  woe   for  them  who  watched  thy 


422  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

entrance  into  heaven,  when  they  shall  wake  and 
find  only  the  cold  gray  sky  of  daily  life,  and  thou 
gone  forever ! " 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"  THIS    IS    THE    LAST    OF    EARTH." — John     Q.    Adams. 

The  statuettes  and  pictures  in  Eva's  room  were 
shrouded  in  white  napkins,  and  only  hushed  breath- 
ings and  muffled  foot-falls  were  heard  there,  and 
the  light  stole  in  solemnly  through  windows  partially 
darkened  by  closed  blinds. 

The  bed  was  draped  in  white  ;  and  there,  beneath 
the  drooping  angel-figure,  lay  a  little  sleeping  form, 
— sleeping  never  to  waken  ! 

There  she  lay,  robed  in  one  of  the  simple  white 
dresses  she  had  been  wont  to  wear  when  living  ;  the 
rose-colored  light  through  the  curtains  cast  over  the 
icy  coldness  of  death  a  warm  glow.  The  heavy  eye- 
lashes drooped  softly  on  the  pure  cheek ;  the  head 
was  turned  a  little  to  one  side,  as  if  in  natural  sleep, 
but  there  was  diffused  over  every  lineament  of  the 
face  that  high  celestial  expression,  that  mingling  of 
rapture  and  repose,  which  showed  it  was  no  earthly 
or  temporary  sleep,  but  the  long,  sacred  rest  which. 
"  He  giveth  to  his  beloved." 

There  is  no  death  to  such  as  thou,  dear  Eva  ! 
neither  darkness  nor  shadow  of  death  ;  only  such  a 
bright  fading  as  when  the  morning  star  fades  in  the 
golden  dawn.  Thine  is  the  victory  without  the 
battle, — the  crown  without  the  conflict. 

So  did  St.  Clare  think,  as,  with  folded  arms,  he 
stood  there  gazing.  Ah  !  who  shall  say  what  he  did 
think  ?  for,  from  the  hour  that  voices  had  said,  in 
the  dying  chamber,  "  she  is  gone,"  it  had  been  all  a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  423 

dreary  mist,  a  heavy  "  dimness  of  anguish."  He 
had  heard  voices  around  him  ;  he  had  had  questions 
asked,  and  answered  them ;  they  had  asked  him 
when  he  would  have  the  funeral,  and  where  they 
should  lay  her  ;  and  he  had  answered,  impatiently, 
that  he  cared  not. 

Adolph  and  Rosa  had  arranged  the  chamber ; 
volatile,  fickle  and  childish,  as  they  generally  were, 
they  were  soft-hearted  and  full  of  feeling ;  and  while 
Miss  Ophelia  presided  over  the  general  details  of 
order  and  neatness,  it  was  their  hands  that  added 
those  soft,  poetic  touches  to  the  arrangements,  that 
took  from  the  death-room  the  grim  and  ghastly  air 
which  too  often  marks  a  New  England  funeral. 

There  were  still  flowers  on  the  shelves, — all  white, 
delicate  and  fragrant,  with  graceful,  drooping  leaves. 
Eva's  little  table,  covered  with  white,  bore  on  it  her 
favorite  vase,  with  a  single  white  moss  rose-bud  in 
it.  The  folds  of  the  drapery,  the  fall  of  the  curtains, 
had  been  arranged  and  rearranged,  by  Adolph  and 
Rosa,  with  that  nicety  of  eye  which  characterizes 
their  race.  Even  now,  while  St.  Clare  stood  there 
thinking,  little  Rosa  tripped  softly  into  the  chamber 
with  a  basket  of  white  flowers.  She  stepped  back 
when  she  saw  St.  Clare,  and  stopped  respectfully  ; 
but,  seeing  that  he  did  not  observe  her,  she  came  for- 
ward to  place  them  around  the  dead.  St.  Clare  saw 
her  as  in  a  dream,  while  she  placed  in  the  small 
hands  a  fair  cape  jessamine,  and,  with  admirable 
taste,  disposed  other  flowers  around  the  couch. 

The  door  opened  again,  and  Topsy,  her  eyes 
swelled  with  crying,  appeared,  holding  something 
under  her  apron.  Rosa  made  a  quick,  forbidding 
gesture  ;  but  she  took  a  step  into  the  room. 

"  You    must   go    out,"    said    Rosa,  in    a    sharp, 


424  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  ;    OR, 

positive  whisper;  " you  have  n't  any  business 
here  !  " 

"  O,  do  let  me !  I  brought  a  flower, — such  a 
pretty  one !  "  said  Topsy,  holding  up  a  half-blown 
tea  rose-bud.     "  Do  let  me  put  just  one  there." 

"  Get  along  !  "  said  Rosa,  more  decidedly. 

"  Let  her  stay  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  suddenly  stamp- 
ing his  foot.     "  She  shall  come." 

Rosa  suddenly  retreated,  and  Topsy  came  forward 
and  laid  her  offering  at  the  feet  of  the  corpse  ,  then 
suddenly,  with  a  wild  and  bitter  cry,  she  threw  her- 
self on  the  floor  alongside  the  bed,  and  wept,  and 
moaned  aloud. 

Miss  Ophelia  hastened  into  the  room,  and  tried 
to  raise  and  silence  her  ;  but  in  vain. 

"  O,  Miss  Eva  !  oh,  Miss  Eva  !  1  wish  I 's  dead, 
too,— I  do!" 

There  was  a  piercing  wildness  in  the  cry,  the 
blood  flushed  into  St.  Clare's  white,  marble-like  face, 
and  the  first  tears  he  had  shed  since  Eva  died  stood 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Get  up,  child,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  in  a  softened 
voice ;  "  don't  cry  so.  Miss  Eva  is  gone  to  heaven  ; 
she  is  an  angel." 

"  But  I  can't  see  her  !  "  said  Topsy.  "  I  never 
shall  see  her  !  "  and  she  sobbed  again. 

They  all  stood  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  She  said  she  loved  me,"  said  Topsy, — "  she  did  ! 
O,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  there  an't  nobody  left  now, — 
there  an't  !  " 

"  That 's  true  enough,"  said  St.  Clare  ;  "  but  do," 
he  said  to  Miss  Ophelia,  "  see  if  you  can't  comfort 
the  poor  creature." 

"  I  jist  wish  I  had  n't  never  been  born,"  said 
Topsy.  "  I  did  n't  want  to  be  born  no  ways  ;  and 
I  don't  see  no  use  on  't." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY".  425 

Miss  Ophelia  raised  her  gently,  but  firmly,  and 
took  her  from  the  room  ;  but,  as  she  did  so,  some 
tears  fell  from  her  eyes. 

"  Topsy,  you  poor  child,"  she  saidr  as  she  led  her 
into  her  room,  "  don't  give  up  1  /  can  love  your 
though  I  am  not  like  that  dear  little  child.  I  hope 
I  've  learnt  something  of  the  love  of  Christ  from  her. 
I  can  love  you  ;  I  do,  and  I  '11  try  to  help  you  to 
grow  up  a  good  Christian  girl." 

Miss  Ophelia's  voice  was  more  than  her  wordsr 
and  more  than  that  were  the  honest  tears  that  fell 
down  her  face.  From  that  hour,  she  acquired  an 
influence  over  the  mind  of  the  destitute  child  that 
she  never  lost. 

"  O,  my  Eva,  whose  little  hour  on  earth  did  so* 
much  of  good,"  thought  St.  Clare,  "  what  account 
have  I  to  give  for  my  long  years  ?  " 

There  were,  for  a  while,  soft  whisperings  and  foot- 
falls in  the  chamber,  as  one  after  another  stole  in, 
to  look  at  the  dead  ;  and  then  came  the  little  coffin  ; 
and  then  there  was  a  funeral,  and  carriages  drove  to 
the  door,  and  strangers  came  and  were  seated  ;  and 
there  were  white  scarfs  and  ribbons,  and  crape  bands, 
and  mourners  dressed  in  black  crape  ;.  and  there 
were  words  read  from  the  Bible,  and  prayers  offered  ; 
and  St.  Clare  lived,  and  walked,  and  movedy  as  one 
who  has  shed  every  tear ; — to  the  last  he  saw  only 
one  thing,  that  golden  head  in  the  coffin  ;  but  then 
he  saw  the  cloth  spread  over  it,  the  lid  of  the  coffin 
closed  ;  and  he  walked,  when  he  was  put  beside  the 
others,  down  to  a  little  place  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  and  there,  by  the  mossy  seat  where  she 
and  Tom  had  talked,  and  sung,  and  read,  so  often, 
was  the  little  grave.  St.  Clare  stood  beside  it, — 
looked  vacantly  down  ;  he  saw  them  lower  the  little 


426  UNCLE   tom's   CABIN  :    OR, 

coffin  ;  he  heard,  dimly,  the  solemn  words,  u  I  am 
the  resurrection  and  the  Life;  he  that  believeth  in 
me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  ;  "  and,  as 
the  earth  was  cast  in  and  filled  up  the  little  grave, 
he  could  not  realize  that  it  was  his  Eva  they  were 
hiding  from  his  sight. 

Nor  was  it ! — not  Eva,  but  only  the  frail  seed  of 
that  bright,  immortal  form  with  which  she  shall  yet 
come  forth,  in  the  day  of  the  Lord  Jesus ! 

And  then  all  were  gone,  and  the  mourners  went 
back  to  the  place  which  should  know  her  no  more  ; 
and  Marie's  room  was  darkened,  and  she  lay  on  the 
hed,  sobbing  and  moaning  in  uncontrollable  grief, 
and  calling  every  moment  for  the  attentions  of  all  her 
servants.  Of  course,  they  had  no  time  to  cry, — why 
should  they  ?  the  grief  was  her  grief,  and  she  was 
fully  convinced  that  nobody  on  earth  did,  could,  or 
would  feel  it  as  she  did. 

"  St.  Clare  did  not  shed  a  tear,"  she  said ;  "  he 
did  n't  sympathize  with  her ;  it  was  perfectly  won- 
derful to  think  how  hard-hearted  and  unfeeling  he 
was,  when  he  must  know  how  she  suffered." 

So  much  are  people  the  slave  of  their  eye  and  ear 
that  many  of  the  servants  really  thought  that  Missis 
was  the  principal  sufferer  in  the  case,  especially  as 
Marie  began  to  have  hysterical  spasms,  and  sent  for 
the  doctor,  and  at  last  declared  herself  dying  ;  and, 
in  the  running  and  scampering,  and  bringing  up  hot 
bottles,  and  heating  of  flannels,  and  chafing,  and 
fussing,  that  ensued,  there  was  quite  a  diversion. 

Tom,  however,  had  a  feeling  at  his  own  heart, 
that  drew  him  to  his  master.  He  followed  him 
wherever  he  walked,  wistfully  and  sadly  ;  and  when 
he  saw  him  sitting,  so  pale  and  quiet,  in  Eva's  room, 
holding  before  his  eyes  her  little  open  Bible,  though 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  427 

seeing  no  letter  or  word  of  what  was  in  it,  there  was 
more  sorrow  to  Tom  in  that  still,  fixed,  tearless  eye, 
than  in  all  Marie's  moans  and  lamentations. 

In  a  few  days  the  St.  Clare  family  were  back  again 
in  the  city  ;  Augustine,  with  the  restlessness  of  grief, 
longing  for  another  scene,  to  change  the  current  of 
his  thoughts.  So  they  left  the  house  and  garden, 
with  its  little  grave,  and  came  back  to  New  Orleans  ; 
and  St.  Clare  walked  the  streets  busily,  and  strove 
to  fill  up  the  chasm  in  his  heart  with  hurry  and 
bustle,  and  change  of  place  ;  and  people  who  saw 
him  in  the  street,  or  met  him  at  the  cafe,  knew  of 
his  loss  only  by  the  weed  on  his  hat ;  for  there  he 
was,  smiling  and  talking,  and  reading  the  news- 
paper, and  speculating  on  politics,  and  attending  to 
business  matters •;  and  who  could  see  that  all  this 
smiling  outside  was  but  a  hollow  shell  over  a  heart 
that  was  a  dark  and  silent  sepulchre  ? 

"  Mr.  St.  Clare  is  a  singular  man,"  said  Marie  to 
Miss  Ophelia,  in  a  complaining  tone.  "  I  used  to 
think,  if  there  was  anything  in  the  world  he  did  love, 
it  was  our  dear  little  Eva  ;  but  he  seems  to  be  for- 
getting her  very  easily.  I  cannot  ever  get  him  to 
talk  about  her.  I  really  did  think  he  would  show 
more  feeling  ! " 

"  Still  waters  run  deepest,  they  used  to  tell  me," 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  oracularly. 

"  O,  I  don't  believe  in  such  things;  it's  all  talk. 
If  people  have  feeling,  they  will  show  it, — they  can't 
help  it ;  but,  then,  it 's  a  great  misfortune  to  have 
feeling.  I  'd  rather  have  been  made  like  St.  Clare. 
My  feelings  prey  upon  me  so  !  " 

"  Sure,  Missis,  Mas'r  St.  Clare  is  gettin'  thin  as  a 
shader.  They  say,  he  don't  never  eat  nothin'," 
said  Mammy.  "  I  know  he  don't  forget  Miss  Eva  ; 
29 


428  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

I  know  there  could  n't  nobody, — dear,  little,  blessed 
cretur !  "  she  added,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  he  has  no  consideration  for 
me,"  said  Marie ;  "  he  has  n't  spoken  one  word  of 
sympathy,  and  he  must  know  how  much  more  a 
mother  feels  than  any  man  can." 

"  The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia,  gravely. 

"That's  just  what  I  think.  I  know  just  what  I 
feel, — nobody  else  seems  to.  Eva  used  to,  but 
she  is  gone  !  "  and  Marie  lay  back  on  her  lounge, 
and  began  to  sob  disconsolately. 

Marie  was  one  of  those  unfortunately  constituted 
mortals,  in  whose  eyes  whatever  is  lost  and  gone 
assumes  a  value  which  it  never  had  in  possession. 
Whatever  she  had,  she  seemed  to  survey  only  to 
pick  flaws  in  it ;  but,  once  fairly  away,  there  was  no 
end  to  her  valuation  of  it. 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place  in  the 
parlor,  another  was  going  on  in  St.  Clare's  library. 

Tom,  who  was  always  uneasily  following  his  mas- 
ter about,  had  seen  him  go  to  his  library,  some  hours 
before  ;  and,  after  vainly  waiting  for  him  to  come 
out,  determined,  at  last,  to  make  an  errand  in.  He 
entered  softly.  St.  Clare  lay  on  his  lounge,  at  the 
further  end  of  the  room.  He  was  lying  on  his  face, 
with  Eva's  Bible  open  before  him,  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. Tom  walked  up,  and  stood  by  the  sofa.  He 
hesitated  ;  and,  while  he  was  hesitating,  St.  Clare 
suddenly  raised  himself  up.  The  honest  face,  so 
full  of  grief,  and  with  such  an  imploring  expression 
of  affection  and  sympathy,  struck  his  master.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  Tom's,  and  bowed  down  his  fore- 
head on  it. 

"  O,  Tom,  my  boy,  the  whole  world  is  as  empty 
as  an  egg-shell." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  429 

"I  know  it,  Mas'r, — I  know  it,"  said  Tom; 
"but,  oh,  if  Mas'r  could  only  look  up, — up  where 
our  dear  Miss  Eva  is, — up  to  the  dear  Lord 
Jesus !  " 

"  Ah,  Tom  !  I  do  look  up ;  but  the  trouble  is,  I 
don't  see  anything,  when  I  do.     I  wish  I  could." 

Tom  sighed  heavily. 

"  It  seems  to  be  given  to  children,  and  poor,, 
honest  fellows,  like  you,  to  see  what  we  can't,"  said 
St.  Clare.     "  How  comes  it  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  '  hid  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and 
revealed  unto  babes,'  "  murmured  Tom  -,  "  '  even  so,, 
Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good  in  thy  sight.'  " 

"  Tom,  I  don't  believe, — I  can't  believe, — I  've 
got  the  habit  of  doubting,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  I  want 
to  believe  this  Bible, — and  I  can't." 

"  Dear  Mas'r,  pray  to  the  good  Lord, — '  Lord,  L 
believe  ;  help  thou  my  unbelief.'  " 

"  Who  knows  anything  about  anything  ?  "  said  St.. 
Clare,  his  eyes  wandering  dreamily,  and  speaking  to 
himself.  "  Was  all  that  beautiful  love  and  faith- 
only  one  of  the  ever-shifting  phases  of  human  feel- 
ing, having  nothing  real  to  rest  on,  passing  away 
with  the  little  breath  ?  And  is  there  no  more  Eva, 
■ — no  heaven, — no  Christ, — nothing  ?  " 

"  O,  dear  Mas'r,  there  is  !  I  know  it ;  I  'm  sure 
of  it,"  said  Tom,  falling  on  his  knees.  "  Do,  do,  dear 
Mas'r,  believe  it !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  there  's  any  Christ,  Tom  ? 
You  never  saw  the  Lord." 

"  Felt  Him  in  my  soul,  Mas'r, — feel  Him  now  ! 
O,  Mas'r,  when  I  was  sold  away  from  my  old  woman 
and  the  children,  I  was  jest  a'most  broke  up.  I 
felt  as  if  there  warn't  nothin'  left ;  and  then  the 
good  Lord,  he  stood  by  me,  and  he  says,  '  Fear  not,, 


43°  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Tom ;  '  and  he  brings  light  and  joy  into  a  poor 
feller's  soul, — makes  all  peace  ;  and  I  's  so  happy, 
and  loves  everybody,  and  feels  willin'  jest  to  be  the 
Lord's  and  have  the  Lord's  will  done,  and  be  put 
jest  where  the  Lord  wants  to  put  me.  I  know  it 
could  n't  come  from  me,  cause  I 's  a  poor,  com- 
plain in'  cretur ;  it  comes  from  the  Lord ;  and  I 
know  He  's  willin'  to  do  for  Mas'r." 

Tom  spoke  with  fast-running  tears  and  choking 
voice.  St.  Clare  leaned  his  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  wrung  the  hard,  faithful,  black  hand. 

"  Tom,  you  love  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  's  willin' to  lay  down  my  life,  this  blessed  day, 
to  see  Mas'r  a  Christian." 

"  Poor  foolish  boy  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  half-raising 
himself.  "  I  'm  not  worth  the  love  of  one  good, 
honest  heart,  like  yours." 

"  O,  Mas'r,  dere 's  more  than  me  loves  you, — the 
blessed  Lord  Jesus  loves  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Tom  ? "  said  St. 
Clare. 

"  Feels  it  in  my  soul.  O,  Mas'r  !  '  the  love  of 
Christ,  that  passeth  knowledge.'  " 

"  Singular  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  turning  away,  "  that 
the  story  of  a  man  that  lived  and  died  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago  can  affect  people  so  yet.  But  he 
was  no  man,"  he  added,  suddenly.  "  No  man  ever 
had  such  long  and  living  power !  O,  that  I  could 
believe  what  my  mother  taught  me,  and  pray  as  I 
did  when  I  was  a  boy  !  " 

"  If  Mas'r  pleases,"  said  Tom,  "  Miss  Eva  used 
to  read  this  so  beautifuly.  I  wish  Mas'r  'd  be  so 
good  as  read  it.  Don't  get  no  readin',  hardly,  now 
Miss  Eva  's  gone." 

The  chapter  was  the  eleventh  of  John, — the  touch- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  43 1 

ing  account  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus.  St.  Clare 
read  it  aloud,  often  pausing  to  wrestle  down  feelings 
which  were  roused  by  the  pathos  of  the  story.  Tom 
knelt  before  him,  with  clasped  hands,  and  with  an 
absorbed  expression  of  love,  trust,  and  adoration,  on 
his  quiet  face. 

"  Tom,"  said  his  master,  "  this  is  all  7-eal  to 
you  !  " 

"  I  can  jest  fairly  see  it,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  eyes,  Tom." 

"  I  wish,  to  the  dear  Lord,   Mas'r  had  !  " 

"  But,  Tom,  you  know  that  I  have  a  great  deal 
more  knowledge  than  you  ;  what  if  I  should  tell  you 
that  I  don't  believe  this  Bible  ?  " 

"  O,  Mas'r !  "  said  Tom,  holding  up  his  hands, 
with  a  deprecating  gesture. 

"  Wouldn  't  it  shake  your  faith  some,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Not  a  grain,"  said  Tom. 

"  Why,  Tom,  you  must  know  I  know  the  most." 

"  O,  Mas'r, have  n't  you  jest  read  how  he  hides 
from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  reveals  unto  babes  ? 
But  Mas'r  was  n't  in  earnest,  for  sartin,  now  ?  "  said 
Tom,  anxiously. 

"  No,  Tom,  I  was  not.  I  don't  disbelieve,  and  I 
think  there  is  reason  to  believe  ;  and  still  I  don't. 
It 's  a  troublesome  bad  habit  I  've  got,  Tom." 

"  If  Mas'r  would  only  pray  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  don  't,  Tom  ?  " 

"Does  Mas'r?" 

"  I  would,  Tom,  if  there  was  anybody  there  when 
I  pray ;  but  it 's  all  speaking  unto  nothing,  when  I 
do.  But  come,  Tom,  you  pray  now,  and  show  me 
how." 

Tom's  heart  was  full ;  he  poured  it  out  in  prayer, 
like  waters  that  have   been  long   suppressed.     One 


432  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

thing  was  plain  enough  ;  Tom  thought  there  was 
somebody  to  hear,  whether  there  were  or  not.  In 
fact,  St.  Clare  felt  himself  borne,  on  the  tide  of  his 
faith  and  feeling,  almost  to  the  gates  of  that  heaven 
he  seemed  so  vividly  to  conceive.  It  seemed  to 
bring  him  nearer  to  Eva. 

"  Thank  you,  my  boy,"  said  St.  Clare,  when  Tom 
rose.  "  I  like  to  hear  you,  Tom  ;  but  go,  now,  and 
leave  me  alone  ;  some  other  time,  I  '11  talk  more." 

Tom  silently  left  the  room. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

REUNION. 

Week  after  week  glided  away  in  the  St.  Clare 
mansion,  and  the  waves  of  life  settled  back  to  their 
usual  flow,  where  that  little  bark  had  gone  down. 
For  how  imperiously,  how  coolly,  in  disregard  of  all 
one's  feeling,  does  the  hard,  cold,  uninteresting 
course  of  daily  realities  move  on  !  Still  must  we 
eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep,  and  wake  again, — still 
bargain,  buy,  sell,  ask  and  answer  questions, — 
pursue,  in  short,  a  thousand  shadows,  though  all 
interest  in  them  be  over  ;  the  cold  mechanical  habit 
of  living  remaining,  after  all  vital  interest  in  it  has 
fled. 

All  the  interests  and  hopes  of  St.  Clare's  life  had 
unconsciously  wound  themselves  around  this  child. 
It  was  for  Eva  that  he  had  managed  his  property ; 
it  was  for  Eva  that  he  had  planned  the  disposal  of 
his  time  ;  and,  to  do  this  and  that  for  Eva, — to  buy, 
improve,  alter,  and  arrange,  or  dispose  something 
for  her, — had  been  so  long  his  habit,  that  now  she 
was  gone,  there  seemed  nothing  to  be  thought  of,  and 
nothing  to  be  done. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  433 

True,  there  was  another  life, — a  life  which,  once 
believed  in,  stands  as  a  solemn,  significant  figure 
before  the  otherwise  unmeaning  ciphers  of  time, 
changing  them  to  orders  of  mysterious,  untold  value. 
St.  Clare  knew  this  well ;  and  often,  in  many  a 
weary  hour,  he  heard  that  slender,  childish  voice 
calling  him  to  the  skies,  and  saw  that  little  hand 
pointing  to  him  the  way  of  life  ;  but  a  heavy  lethargy 
of  sorrow  lay  on  him, — he  could  not  arise.  He  had 
one  of  those  natures  which  could  better  and  more 
clearly  conceive  of  religious  things  from  its  own 
perceptions  and  instincts,  than  many  a  matter-of-fact 
and  practical  Christian.  The  gift  to  appreciate  and 
the  sense  to  feel  the  finer  shades  and  relations  of 
moral  things,  often  seems  an  attribute  of  those 
whose  whole  life  shows  a  careless  disregard  of  them. 
Hence  Moore,  Byron,  Goethe,  often  speak  words 
more  wisely  descriptive  of  the  true  religious  senti- 
ment, than  another  man,  whose  whole  life  is  gov- 
erned by  it.  In  such  minds,  disregard  of  religion  is 
a  more  fearful  treason, — a  more  deadly  sin. 

St.  Clare  had  never  pretended  to  govern  himself 
by  any  religious  obligation  ;  and  a  certain  fineness 
of  nature  gave  him  such  an  instinctive  view  of  the 
extent  of  the  requirements  of  Christianity,  that  he 
shrank,  by  anticipation,  from  what  he  felt  would  be 
the  exactions  of  his  own  conscience,  if  he  once  did 
resolve  to  assume  them.  For,  so  inconsistent  is 
human  nature,  especially  in  the  ideal,  that  not  to 
undertake  a  thing  at  all  seems  better  than  to  under- 
take and  come  short. 

Still  St.  Clare  was,  in  many  respects,  another 
man.  He  read  his  little  Eva's  Bible  seriously  and 
honestly ;  he  thought  more  soberly  and  practically 
of  his  relations  to  his  servants, — enough  to  make 


434  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

him  extremely  dissatisfied  with  both  his  past  and 
present  course  ;  and  one  thing  he  did,  soon  after 
his  return  to  New  Orleans,  and  that  was  to  com- 
mence the  legal  steps  necessary  to  Tom's  emancipa- 
tion, which  was  to  be  perfected  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  through  the  necessary  formalities.  Meantime, 
he  attached  himself  to  Tom  more  and  more,  every 
day.  In  all  the  wide  world,  there  was  nothing  that 
seemed  to  remind  him  so  much  of  Eva  ;  and  he  would 
insist  on  keeping  him  constantly  about  him,  andr 
fastidious  and  unapproachable  as  he  was  with  regard 
to  his  deeper  feelings,  he  almost  thought  aloud  ta 
Tom.  Nor  would  any  one  have  wondered  at  it, 
who  had  seen  the  expression  of  affection  and  devo- 
tion with  which  Tom  continually  followed  his  young 
master. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  St.  Clare,  the  day  after  he  had 
commenced  the  legal  formalities  for  his  enfranchise- 
ment, "  I  'm  going  to  make  a  free  man  of  you  ; — so, 
have  your  trunk  packed,  and  get  ready  to  set  out 
for  Kentuck." 

The  sudden  light  of  joy  that  shone  in  Tom's  face 
as  he  raised  his  hands  to  heaven,  his  emphatic  "  Bless 
the  Lord  ! "  rather  discomposed  St.  Clare  ;  he  did 
not  like  it  that  Tom  should  be  so  ready  to  leave  him.. 

"  You  have  n  't  had  such  very  bad  times  here, 
that  you  need  be  in  such  a  rapture,  Tom,"  he  said,, 
drily. 

"  No,  no,  Mas'r  !  'tan't  that, — it 's  bein'  a  free 
man  !     That 's  what  I  'm  joyin'  for." 

"  Why,  Tom,  don't  you  think,  for  your  own  part, 
you  've  been  better  off  than  to  be  free  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Mas'r  St.  Clare,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
flash  of  energy.     *  No,  indeed  !  " 

"  Why,  Tom,  you  could  n't  possibly  have  earned, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  435 

by  your  work,  such  clothes  and  such  living  as  I  have 
given  you." 

"  Knows  all  that,  Mas'r  St.  Clare ;  Mas'r  's  been 
too  good  ;  but,  Mas'r,  I  'd  rather  have  poor  clothes, 
poor  house,  poor  everything,  and  have  'em  mine, 
than  have  the  best,  and  have  'em  any  man's  else, — 
I  had  so,  Mas'r  ;     I  think  it 's  natur,  Mas'r." 

"  I  suppose  so,  Tom,  and  you  '11  be  going  off  and 
leaving  me,  in  a  month  or  so,"  he  added,  rather  dis- 
contentedly. "  Though  why  you  should  n't,  no 
mortal  knows,"  he  said,  in  a  gayer  tone  ;  and,  get- 
ting up,  he  began  to  walk  the  floor. 

"  Not  while  Mas'r  is  in  trouble,"  said  Tom.  "  I  'II 
stay  with  Mas'r  as  long  as  he  wants  me, — so  as  I 
can  be  any  use." 

"  Not  while  I  'm  in  trouble,  Tom  ?  "  said  St.  Clare, 

looking  sadly  out  of  the  window ;'  And 

when  will  my  trouble  be    over  ?  " 

"  When  Mas'r  St.  Clare  's  a  Christian,"  said  Tom. 

"And  you  really  mean  to  stay  by  till  that  day 
comes  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  half  smiling,  as  he  turned 
from  the  window,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Tom's 
shoulder.  "  Ah,  Tom,  you  soft,  silly  boy  !  I  won't 
keep  you  till  that  day.  Go  home  to  your  wife  and 
children,  and  give  my  love  to  all." 

"  I 's  faith  to  believe  that  day  will  come,"  said 
Tom,  earnestly,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  ;  "  the 
Lord  has  a  work  for  Mas'r." 

"  A  work,  hey  ?  "  said  St.  Clare  ;  "  well,  now, 
Tom,  give  me  your  views  on  what  sort  of  a  work  it 
is  ; — let 's  hear." 

"  Why  even  a  poor  fellow  like  me  has  a  work 
from  the  Lord ;  and  Mas'r  St.  Clare,  that  has  larnin, 
and  riches,  and  friends, — how  much  he  might  do  for 
the  Lord  !  " 


436  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 

"  Tom,  you  seem  to  think  the  Lord  needs  a  great 
deal  done  for  him,"  said  St.  Clare,  smiling. 

"  We  does  for  the  Lord  when  we  does  for  his 
critturs,"  said  Tom. 

"  Good  theology,  Tom ;  better  than  Dr.  B. 
preaches,  I  dare  swear,"  said  St.  Clare. 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the 
announcement  of  some  visitors. 

Marie  St.  Clare  felt  the  loss  of  Eva  as  deeply  as 
she  could  feel  anything ;  and,  as  she  was  a  woman 
that  had  a  great  faculty  of  making  everybody  un- 
ihappy  when  she  was,  her  immediate  attendants  had 
still  stronger  reason  to  regret  the  loss  of  their  young 
mistress,  whose  winning  ways  and  gentle  interces- 
sions had  so  often  been  a  shield  to  them  from  the 
tyrannical  and  selfish  exactions  of  her  mother.  Poor 
old  Mammy,  in  particular,  whose  heart,  severed  from 
all  natural  domestic  ties,  had  consoled  itself  with 
this  one  beautiful  being,  was  almost  heart-broken. 
She  cried  day  and  night,  and  was,  from  excess  of 
sorrow,  less  skilful  and  alert  in  her  ministrations  on 
lier  mistress  than  usual,  which  drew  down  a  constant 
storm  of  invectives  on  her  defenceless  head. 

Miss  Ophelia  felt  the  loss ;  but,  in  her  good  and 
lionest  heart,  it  bore  fruit  unto  everlasting  life.  She 
was  more  softened,  more  gentle ;  and,  though 
equally  assiduous  in  every  duty,  it  was  with  a 
•chastened  and  quiet  air,  as  one  who  communed  with 
her  own  heart  not  in  vain.  She  was  more  diligent 
in  teaching  Topsy, — taught  her  mainly  from  the 
Bible, — did  not  any  longer  shrink  from  her  touch,  or 
manifest  an  ill-repressed  disgust,  because  she  felt 
none.  She  viewed  her  now  through  the  softened 
medium  that  Eva's  hand  had  first  held  before  her 
<eyes,  and  saw  in    her   only   an    immortal    creature, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  437 

whom  God  had  sent  to  be  led  by  her  to  glory  and 
virtue.  Topsy  did  not  become  at  once  a  saint ;  but 
the  life  and  death  of  Eva  did  work  a  marked  change 
in  her.  The  callous  indifference  was  gone  ;  there 
was  now  sensibility,  hope,  desire,  and  the  striving 
for  good, — a  strife  irregular,  interrupted,  suspended 
■oft,  but  yet  renewed  again. 

One  day,  when  Topsy  had  been  sent  for  by  Miss 
Ophelia,  she  came,  hastily  thrusting  something  into 
her  bosom. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  you  limb  ?  You  've 
been  stealing  something,  I  '11  be  bound,"  said  the 
imperious  little  Rosa,  who  had  been  sent  to  call 
her,  seizing  her,  at  the  same  time,  roughly  by  the 
arm. 

"  You  go  'long,  Miss  Rosa ! "  said  Topsy,  pulling 
from  her  ;  "  'tan't  none  o'  your  business  !  " 

"  None  o'  your  sa'ce  !  "  said  Rosa.  "  I  saw  you 
hiding  something, — I  know  yer  tricks,"  and  Rosa 
seized  her  arm,  and  tried  to  force  her  hand  into  her 
t>osom,  while  Topsy,  enraged,  kicked  and  fought  val- 
iantly for  what  she  considered  her  rights.  The  clamor 
and  confusion  of  the  battle  drew  Miss  Ophelia  and 
St.  Clare  both  to  the  spot. 

"  She  's  been  stealing  !  "  said  Rosa. 

"  I  han't,  neither  !  "  vociferated  Topsy,  sobbing 
with  passion. 

"  Give  me  that,  whatever  it  is  !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia, 
firmly. 

Topsy  hesitated  ;  but,  on  a  second  order,  pulled 
out  of  her  bosom  a  little  parcel  done  up  in  the  foot 
of  one  of  her  own  old  stockings. 

Miss  Ophelia  turned  it  out.  There  was  a  small 
book,  which  had  been  given  to  Topsy  by  Eva,  con- 
taining  a   single   verse   of   Scripture,    arranged  for 


438  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

every  day  in  the  year,  and  in  a  paper  the  curl  of 
hair  that  she  had  given  her  on  that  memorable  day 
when  she  had  taken  her  last  farewell. 

St.  Clare  was  a  good  deal  affected  at  the  sight  of 
it ;  the  little  book  had  been  rolled  in  a  long  strip  of 
black  crape,  torn  from  the  funeral  weeds. 

"  What  did  you  wrap  this  round  the  book  for  ? " 
said  St.  Clare,  holding  up  the  crape. 

"  Cause, — cause, — cause  't  was  Miss  Eva.  O, 
don't  take  'em  away,  please  !  "  she  said  ;  and,  sitting 
flat  down  on  the  floor,  and  putting  her  apron  over 
her  head,  she  began  to  sob  vehemently. 

It  was  a  curious  mixture  of  the  pathetic  and  the 
ludicrous, — the  little  old  stocking, — black  crape, — 
text-book, — fair,  soft  curl, — and  Topsy's  utter  dis- 
tress. 

St.  Clare  smiled  ;  but  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  said, 

"  Come,  come, — don't  cry ;  you  shall  have  them  !  " 
and,  putting  them  together,  he  threw  them  into  her 
lap,  and  drew  Miss  Ophelia  with  him  into  the  parlor. 

"  I  really  think  you  can  make  something  of  that 
concern,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his  thumb  back- 
ward over  his  shoulder.  "  Any  mind  that  is  capa- 
ble of  a  real  sorrow  is  capable  of  good.  You  must 
try  and  do  something  with  her." 

"  The  child  has  improved  greatly,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia.  "  I  have  great  hopes  of  her ;  but,  Augus- 
tine," she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "one 
thing  I  want  to  ask  ;  whose  is  this  child  to  be  ? — 
yours  or  mine  ?  " 

"Why,  I  gave  her  to  you"  said  Augustine. 

"  But  not  legally  ■ — I  want  her  to  be  mine  legally," 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"Whew!  cousin,"  said  Augustine.     "What  will 


■&' 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  439 

the  Abolition  Society  think  ?  They'll  have  a  day  of 
fasting" appointed  for  this  backsliding,  if  you  become 
a  slave-holder  !  " 

"  O,  nonsense  !  I  want  her  mine,  that  I  may  have 
a  right  to  take  her  to  the  free  States,  and  give  her  her 
liberty,  that  all  I  am  trying  to  do  be  not  undone." 

"  O,  cousin,  what  an  awful  '  doing  evil  that  good 
may  come '  !    I  can't  encourage  it." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  joke,  but  to  reason,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia.  "  There  is  no  use  in  my  trying  to 
make  this  child  a  Christian  child,  unless  I  save  her 
from  all  the  chances  and  reverses  of  slavery ;  and,  if 
you  really  are  willing  I  should  have  her,  I  want  you 
to  give  me  a  deed  of  gift,  or  some  legal  paper." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  I  will ;  "  and  he 
sat  down,  and  unfolded  a  newspaper  to  read. 

"  But  I  want  it  done  now,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  What  's  your  hurry  ?  " 

"  Because  now  is  the  only  time  there  ever  is  to 
do  a  thing  in,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  Come,  now, 
here  's  paper,  pen,  and  ink  ;  just  write  a  paper." 

St.  Clare,  like  most  men  of  his  class  of  mind, 
cordially  hated  the  present  tense  of  action,  generally  ; 
and,  therefore,  he  was  considerably  annoyed  by 
Miss  Ophelia's  downrightness. 

"  Why,  what  's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he.  "  Can't 
you  take  my  word  ?  One  would  think  you  had 
taken  lessons  of  the  Jews,  coming  at  a  fellow  so  !  " 

"  I  want  to  make  sure  of  it,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 
"  You  may  die,  or  fail,  and  then  Topsy  be  hustled 
off  to  auction,  spite  of  all  I  can  do." 

"  Really,  you  are  quite  provident.  Well,  seeing 
I  'm  in  the  hands  of  a  Yankee,  there  is  nothing  for 
it  but  to  concede  ;  "  and  St.  Clare  rapidly  wrote  off 
a  deed  of  gift,  which,  as  he  was  well   versed  in  the 


44-0  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

forms  of  law,  he  could  easily  do,  and  signed  his 
name  to  it  in  sprawling  capitals,  concluding  by  a. 
tremendous  flourish. 

"  There,  is  n't  that  black  and  white,  now,  Miss 
Vermont  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Good  boy,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  smiling.  "  But 
must  it  not  be  witnessed  ?  " 

"  O,  bother ! — yes.  Here,"  he  said,  opening; 
the  door  into  Marie's  apartment,  "  Marie,  Cousin 
wants  your  autograph ;  just  put  your  name  down 
here." 

"  What  's  this  ?  "  said  Marie,  as  she  ran  over  the 
paper.  "  Ridiculous  !  I  thought  Cousin  was  too 
pious  for  such  horrid  things,"  she  added,  as  she 
carelessly  wrote  her  name  ;  "  but,  if  she  has  a  fancy 
for  that  article,  I  sure  she  's  welcome." 

"  There,  now,  she  's  yours,  body  and  soul,"  said 
St.  Clare,  handing  the  paper. 

"  No  more  mine  now  than  she  was  before,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia.  "  Nobody  but  God  has  a  right  to 
give  her  to  me  ;  but  I  can  protect  her  now." 

1 '  Well,  she  's  yours  by  a  fiction  of  law,  then," 
said  St.  Clare,  as  he  turned  back  into  the  parlor, 
and  sat  down  to  his  paper. 

Miss  Ophelia,  who  seldom  sat  much  in  Marie's 
company,  followed  him  into  the  parlor,  having  first 
carefully  laid  away  the  paper. 

"  Augustine,"  she  said,  suddenly,  as  she  sat 
knitting,  "have  you  ever  made  any  provision  for 
your  servants,  in  case  of  your  death  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  St.  Clare,  as  he  read  on. 

"  Then  all  your  indulgence  to  them  may  prove  a 
great  cruelty,  by  and  by." 

St.  Clare  had  often  thought  the  same  thing  him- 
self ;  but  he  answered,  negligently, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  44 E 

"  Well,  I  mean  to  make  a  provision,  by  and 
by." 

"  When  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  O,  one  of  these  days." 

"  What  if  you  should  die  first  ?  " 

"  Cousin,  what  's  the  matter  ? "  said  St.  Clare,, 
laying  down  his  paper  and  looking  at  her.  "  Do> 
you  think  I  show  symptoms  of  yellow  fever  or 
cholera,  that  you  are  making  post  mortem  arrange- 
ments with  such  zeal  ?  " 

"  '  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death,'  "  said 
Miss  Ophelia. 

St.  Clare  rose  up,  and  laying  the  paper  down 
carelessly,  walked  to  the  door  that  stood  open  on 
the  verandah,  to  put  an  end  to  a  conversation  that 
was  not  agreeable  to  him.  Mechanically,  he  re- 
peated the  last  word  again, — "Death/" — and,  as 
he  leaned  against  the  railings,  and  watched  the 
sparkling  water  as  it  rose  and  fell  in  the  fountain  ; 
and,  as  in  a  dim  and  dizzy  haze,  saw  flowers  and 
trees  and  vases  of  the  courts,  he  repeated  again  the 
mystic  word  so  common  in  every  mouth,  yet  of  such 
fearful  power, — "  Death  !  "  "  Strange  that  there 
should  be  such  a  word,"  he  said,  "  and  such  a  thing, 
and  we  ever  forget  it ;  that  one  should  be  living, 
warm  and  beautiful,  full  of  hopes,  desires  and  wants, 
one  day,  and  the  next  be  gone,  utterly  gone,  and 
forever  !  " 

It  was  a  warm,  golden  evening  ;  and,  as  he  walked 
to  the  other  end  of  the  verandah,  he  saw  Tom  busily 
intent  on  his  Bible,  pointing,  as  he  did  so,  with  his 
finger  to  each  successive  word,  and  whispering  them 
to  himself  with  an  earnest  air. 

"  Want  me  to  read  to  you,  Tom  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,, 
seating  himself  carelessly  by  him. 


442  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  If  Mas'r  pleases,"  said  Tom,  gratefully,  "  Mas'r 
makes  it  so  much  plainer. " 

St.  Clare  took  the  book  and  glanced  at  the  place, 
and  began  reading  one  of  the  passages  which  Tom 
had  designated  by  the  heavy  marks  around  it.  It 
ran  as  follows  : 

"  When  the  Son  of  man  shall  come  in  his  glory, 
and  all  his  holy  angels  with  him,  then  shall  he  sit 
upon  the  throne  of  his  glory :  and  before  him  shall 
be  gathered  all  nations  ;  and  he  shall  separate  them 
one  from  another,  as  a  shepherd  divideth  his  sheep 
from  the  goats."  St.  Clare  read  on  in  an  animated 
voice,  till  he  came  to  the  last  of  the  verses. 

"  Then  shall  the  king  say  unto  them  on  his  left 
hand,  Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting 
fire  :  for  I  was  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  no 
meat:  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  no  drink;  I 
was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  not  in  :  naked,  and 
ye  clothed  me  not :  I  was  sick,  and  in  prison,  and 
ye  visited  me  not.  Then  shall  *they  answer  unto 
Him,  Lord  when  saw  we  thee  an  hungered,  or 
athirst,  or  a  stranger,  or  naked,  or  sick,  or  in  prison, 
and  did  not  minister  unto  thee  ?  Then  shall  he 
say  unto  them,  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  to  one  of 
the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  did  it  not  to 
me." 

St.  Clare  seemed  struck  with  this  last  passage,  for 
he  read  it  twice, — the  second  time  slowly,  and  as  if 
he  were  revolving  the  words  in  his  mind. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  "  these  folks  that  get  such  hard 
measure  seem  to  have  been  doing  just  what  I  have, 
— living  good,  easy,  respectable  lives  ;  and  not  troub- 
ling themselves  to  inquire  how  many  of  their  breth- 
ren were  hungry  or  athirst,  or  sick,  or  in  prison." 

Tom  did  not  answer. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  443 

St.  Clare  rose  up  and  walked  thoughtfully  up  and 
down  the  verandah,  seeming  to  forget  everything  in 
his  own  thoughts  ;  so  absorbed  was  he,  that  Tom 
had  to  remind  him  twice  that  the  tea-bell  had  rung, 
before  he  could  get  his  attention. 

St.  Clare  was  absent  and  thoughtful,  all  tea-time. 
After  tea,  he  and  Marie  and  Miss  Ophelia  took  pos- 
session of  the  parlor,  almost  in  silence. 

Marie  disposed  herself  on  a  lounge,  undera  silken 
mosquito  curtain,  and  was  soon  sound  asleep.  Miss 
Ophelia  silently  busied  herself  with  her  knitting. 
St.  Clare  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  began  playing 
a  soft  and  melancholy  movement  with  the  ^Eolian 
accompaniment.  He  seemed  in  a  deep  reverie,  and 
to  be  soliloquizing  to  himself  by  music.  After  a 
little,  he  opened  one  of  the  drawers,  took  out  an 
old  music-book  whose  leaves  were  yellow  with  age, 
and  began  turning  it  over. 

"  There,"  he  said  to  Miss  Ophelia,  "  this  was  one 
of  my  mother's  books, — and  here  is  her  handwrit- 
ing,— come  and  look  at  it.  She  copied  and  ar- 
ranged this  from  Mozart's  Requiem."  Miss  Ophelia 
came  accordingly. 

"  It  was  something  she  used  to  sing  often,"  said 
St.  Clare.     "  I  think  I  can  hear  her  now." 

He  struck  a  few  majestic  chords,  and  began  sing- 
ing that  grand  old  Latin  piece,  the  "  Dies  Irae." 

Tom,  who  was  listening  in  the  outer  verandah, 
was  drawn  by  the  sound  to  the  very  door,  where  he 
stood  earnestly.  He  did  not  understand  the  words, 
of  course  ;  but  the  music  and  manner  of  singing  ap- 
peared to  affect  him  strongly,  especially  when  St. 
Clare  sang  the  more  pathetic  parts.  Tom  would 
have  sympathized  more  heartily,  if  he  had  known 
the  meaning  of  the  beautiful  words  : 
3° 


444  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

Recordare  Jesn  pie 
Quod  sum  causa  tua?  viag 
Ne  me  perdas,  ilia  die 
Querens  me  sedisti  lassus 
Redemisti  crucem  passus 
Tantus  labor  non  sit  cassus.* 

St.  Clare  threw  a  deep  and  pathetic  expression  into 
the  words  ;  for  the  shadowy  veil  of  years  seemed 
j  drawn  away,  and  he  seemed  to  hear  his  mother's 
voice  leading  his.  Voice  and  instrument  seemed 
both  living,  and  threw  out  with  vivid  sympathy 
those  strains  which  the  ethereal  Mozart  first  con- 
ceived as  his  own  dying  requiem. 

When  St.  Clare  had  done  singing,  he  sat  leaning- 
his  head  upon  his  hand  a  few  moments,  and  then 
began  walking  up  and  down  the  floor. 

"  What  a  sublime  conception  is  that  of  a  last 
judgment !  "  said  he, — "  a  righting  of  all  the  wrongs 
of  ages  ! — a  solving  of  all  moral  problems,  by  an 
unanswerable  wisdom  !  It  is,  indeed,  a  wonderful 
image." 

"  It  is  a  fearful  one  to  us,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  It  ought  to  be  to  me,  I  suppose,"  said  St.  Clare? 
stopping,  thoughtfully.  "  I  was  reading  to  Tom, 
f  this  afternoon,  that  chapter  in  Matthew  that  gives 
an  account  of  it,  and  I  have  been  quite  struck  with 
it.  One  should  have  expected  some  terrible  enor- 
mities charged  to  those  who  are  excluded  from 
Heaven,  as  the  reason ;  but  no,- — they  are  con- 
demned for  7iot  doing  positive  good,  as  if  that 
included  every  possible  harm." 

*  These  lines  have  been  thus  rather  inadequately  translated  : 

Think,  O  Jesus,  for  what  reason 

Thou  endured'st  earth's  spite  and  treason, 

Nor  me  lose,  in  that  dread  season  ; 

Seeking  me,  thy  worn  feet  hasted, 

On  the  cross  thy  soul  death  tasted, 

Let  not  all  these  toils  be  wasted. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  445 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  it  is  impossible 
for  a  person  who  does  no  good  not  to  do  harm." 

"  And  what,"  said  St.  Clare,  speaking  abstract- 
edly, but  with  deep  feeling,  "  what  shall  be  said  of 
one  whose  own  heart,  whose  education,  and  the 
wants  of  society,  have  called  in  vain  to  some  noble 
purpose ;  who  has  floated  on,  a  dreamy,  neutral 
spectator  of  the  struggles,  agonies,  and  wrongs  of 
man,  when  he  should  have  been  a  worker  ?  " 

"I  should  say,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "that  he 
ought  to  repent,  and  begin  now." 

"  Always  practical  and  to  the  point  !  "  said  St. 
Clare,  his  face  breaking  out  into  a  smile.  "  You 
never  leave  me  any  time  for  general  reflections, 
Cousin  ;  you  always  bring  me  short  up  against  the 
actual  present ;  you  have  a  kind  of  eternal  now, 
always  in  your  mind." 

"  Now  is  all  the  time  I  have  anything  to  do  with," 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

M  Dear  little  Eva, — poor  child  !  "  said  St.  Clare, 
"she  had  set  her  little  simple  soul  on  a  good  work 
for  me." 

It  was  the  first  time  since  Eva's  death  that  he 
had  ever  said  as  many  words  as  these  of  her,  and 
he  spoke  now  evidently  repressing  very  strong  feel- 
ing. 

"  My  view  of  Christianity  is  such,"  he  added, 
"  that  I  think  no  man  can  consistently  profess  it 
without  throwing  the  whole  weight  of  his  being 
against  this  monstrous  system  of  injustice  that  lies 
at  the  foundation  of  all  our  society  ;  and,  if  need  be, 
sacrificing  himself  in  the  battle.  That  is,  I  mean 
that  /could  not  be  a  Christian  otherwise,  though  I 
have  certainly  had  intercourse  with  a  great  many 
enlightened  and  Christian   people   who  did  no  such 


44&  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

thing;  and  I  confess  that  the  apathy  of  religious 
-people  on  this  subject,  their  want  of  perception  of 
wrongs  that  filled  me  with  horror,  have  engendered 
in  me  more  scepticism  than  any  other  thing." 

u  If  you  knew  all  this,"'  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  why 
•did  n't  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  O,  because  I  have  had  only  that  kind  of  benev- 
olence Avhich  consists  in  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  curs- 
ing the  church  and  clergy  for  not  being  martyrs  and 
•confessors.  One  can  see,  you  know,  very  easily, 
how  others  ought  to  be  martyrs." 

"  Well,  are  you  going  to  do  differently  now  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"God  only  knows  the  future,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  I  am  braver  than  I  was,  because  I  have  lost  all  ; 
and  he  who  has  nothing  to  lose  can  afford  all  risks." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  My  duty,  I  hope,  to  the  poor  and  lowly,  as  fast 
as  I  find  it  out,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  beginning  with 
my  own  servants,  for  whom  I  have  yet  done  nothing  ; 
and,  perhaps,  at  some  future  day,  it  may  appear 
that  I  can  do  something  for  a  whole  class  ;  some- 
thing to  save  my  country  from  the  disgrace  of  that 
false  position  in  which  she  now  stands  before  all 
•civilized  nations." 

"  Do  you  suppose  it  possible  that  a  nation  ever 
"will  voluntarily  emancipate  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  This  is  a  day 
of  great  deeds.  Heroism  and  disinterestedness  are 
rising  up,  here  and  there,  in  the  earth.  The 
Hungarian  nobles  set  free  millions  of  serfs,  at  an 
immense  pecuniary  loss  ;  and,  perhaps,  among  us 
may  be  found  generous  spirits,  who  do  not  estimate 
.honor  and  justice  by  dollars  and  cents." 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  447 

"  But,  suppose  we  should  rise  up  to-morrow  and. 
emancipate,  who  would  educate  these  millions,  and 
teach  them  how  to  use  their  freedom  ?  They  never 
would  rise  to  do  much  among  us.  The  fact  is,  we 
are  too  lazy  and  unpractical,  ourselves,  ever  to  give 
them  much  of  an  idea  of  that  industry  and  energy 
which  is  necessary  to  form  them  into  men.  They 
will  have  to  go  north,  where  labor  is  the  fashion, — 
the  universal  custom  ;  and  tell  me,  now,  is  there 
enough  Christian  philanthropy,  among  your  northern 
states,  to  bear  with  the  process  of  their  education 
and  elevation  ?  You  send  thousands  of  dollars  to 
foreign  missions  ;  but  could  you  endure  to  have  the 
heathen  sent  into  your  towns  and  villages,  and  give 
your  time,  and  thoughts,  and  money,  to  raise 
them  to  the  Christian  standard  ?  That 's  what  I 
want  to  know.  If  we  emancipate,  are  you  willing 
to  educate  ?  How  many  families,  in  your  town, 
would  take  in  a  negro  man  and  woman,  teach  them, 
bear  with  them,  and  seek  to  make  them  Christians  ?' 
How  many  merchants  would  take  Adolph,  if  I 
wanted  to  make  him  a  clerk  ;  or  mechanics  if  I  wanted 
him  taught  a  trade  ?  If  I  wanted  to  put  Jane  and 
Rosa  to  a  school,  how  many  schools  are  there  in 
the  northern  states  that  would  take  them  in  ?  how 
many  families  that  would  board  them  ?  and  yet 
they  are  as  white  as  many  a  woman,  north  or  south. 
You  see,  Cousin,  I  want  justice  done  us.  We  are 
in  a  bad  position.  We  are  the  more  obvious  oppres- 
sors of  the  negro  ;  but  the  unchristian  prejudice  of 
the  north  is  an  oppressor  almost  equally  severe." 

"Well,  Cousin,  I  know  it  is  so,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia, — "  I  know  it  was  so  with  me,  till  I  saw 
that  it  was  my  duty  to  overcome  it ;  but,  I  trust  I 
have  overcome  it;  and  I  know  there  are  many  good. 


448  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

people  at  the  north,  who  in  this  matter  need  only  to 
be  taught  what  their  duty  is,  to  do  it.  It  would 
certainly  be  a  greater  self-denial  to  receive  heathen 
among  us,  than  to  send  missionaries  to  them ;  but 
I  think  we  would  do  it." 

"  You  would,  I  know,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  I'd  like 
to  see  anything  you  would  n't  do,  if  you  thought  it 
your  duty  !  " 

"Well, -I  'm  not  uncommonly  good,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia.  "  Others  would,  if  they  saw  things  as  I 
do.  I  intend  to  take  Topsy  home,  when  I  go.  I 
suppose  our  folks  will  wonder,  at  first ;  but  I  think 
they  will  be  brought  to  see  as  I  do.  Besides,  I 
know  there  are  many  people  at  the  north  who  do 
exactly  what  you  said." 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  a  minority  ;  and,  if  we  should 
begin  to  emancipate  to  any  extent,  we  should  soon 
hear  from  you." 

Miss  Ophelia  did  not  reply.  There  was  a  pause 
of  some  moments  ;  and  St.  Clare's  countenance  was 
overcast  by  a  sad,  dreamy  expression. 

"  I  don't  know  what  makes  me  think  of  my 
mother  so  much,  to-night,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a 
strange  kind  of  feeling,  as  if  she  were  near  me.  I 
keep  thinking  of  things  she  used  to  say.  Strange, 
what  brings  these  past  things  so  vividly  back  to  us, 
sometimes  !  " 

St.  Clare  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  some 
minutes  more,  and  then  said, 

"  I  believe  I  '11  go  down  street,  a  few  moments, 
and  hear  the  news  to-night." 

He  took  his  hat,  and  passed  out. 

Tom  followed  him  to  the  passage,  out  of  the 
court,  and  asked  if  he  should  attend  him. 

"  No,  my  boy,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  I  shall  be  back 
in  an  hour." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  449 

Tom  sat  down  in  the  verandah.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful moonlight  evening,  and  he  sat  watching  the 
rising  and  falling  spray  of  the  fountain,  and  listen- 
ing to  its  murmur.  Tom  thought  of  his  home,  and 
that  he  should  soon  be  a  free  man,  and  able  to  re- 
turn to  it  at  will.  He  thought  how  he  should  work 
to  buy  his  wife  and  boys.  He  felt  the  muscles  of 
his  brawny  arms  with  a  sort  of  joy,  as  he  thought 
they  would  soon  belong  to  himself,  and  how  much 
they  could  do  to  work  out  the  freedom  of  his  family. 
Then  he  thought  of  his  noble  young  master,  and, 
ever  second  to  that,  came  the  habitual  prayer  that 
he  had  always  offered  for  him ;  and  then  his 
thoughts  passed  on  to  the  beautiful  Eva,  whom  he 
now  thought  of  among  the  angels  ;  and  he  thought 
till  he  almost  fancied  that  that  bright  face  and 
golden  hair  were  looking  upon  him,  out  of  the  spray 
of  the  fountain.  And,  so  musing,  he  fell  asleep, 
and  dreamed  he  saw  her  coming  bounding  towards 
him,  just  as  she  used  to  come,  with  a  wreath  of  jes- 
samine in  her  hair,  her  cheeks  bright,  and  her  eyes 
radiant  with  delight ;  but,  as  he  looked,  she  seemed 
to  rise  from  the  ground ;  her  cheeks  wore  a  paler 
hue, — her  eyes  had  a  deep,  divine  radiance,  a  golden 
halo  seemed  around  her  head, — and  she  vanished 
from  his  sight ;  and  Tom  was  awakened  by  a  loud 
knocking,  and  a  sound  of  many  voices  at  the  gate. 

He  •  hastened  to  undo  it ;  and,  with  smothered 
voices  and  heavy  tread,  came  several  men,  bringing 
a  body,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  and  lying  on  a  shutter. 
The  light  of  the  lamp  fell  full  on  the  face  ;  and  Tom 
gave  a  wild  cry  of  amazement  and  despair,  that  rung 
through  all  the  galleries,  as  the  men  advanced,  with 
their  burden,  to  the  open  parlor  door,  where  Miss 
Ophelia  still  sat  knitting. 


45  O  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  ■    OR, 

St.  Clare  had  turned  into  a  cafe,  to  look  over  an 
evening  paper.  As  he  was  reading,  an  affray  arose 
between  two  gentlemen  in  the  room,  who  were  both 
partially  intoxicated.  St.  Clare  and  one  or  two 
others  made  an  effort  to  separate  them,  and  St.  Clare 
received  a  fatal  stab  in  the  side  with  a  bowie-knife, 
which  he  was  attempting  to  wrest  from  one  of  them. 

The  house  was  full  of  cries  and  lamentations, 
shrieks  and  screams  ;  servants  frantically  tearing 
their  hair,  throwing  themselves  on  the  ground,  or 
running  distractedly  about,  lamenting.  Tom  and 
Miss  Ophelia  alone  seemed  to  have  any  presence  of 
mind;  for  Marie  was  in  strong  hysteric  convulsions. 
At  Miss  Ophelia's  direction,  one  of  the  lounges  in 
the  parlor  was  hastily  prepared,  and  the  bleeding 
form  laid  upon  it.  St.  Clare  had  fainted,  through 
pain  and  loss  of  blood  ;  but,  as  Miss  Ophelia  ap- 
plied restoratives,  he  revived,  opened  his  eyes,  looked 
fixedly  on  them,  looked  earnestly  around  the  room, 
his  eyes  travelling  wistfully  over  every  object,  and 
finally  they  rested  on  his  mother's  picture. 

The  physician  now  arrived,  and  made  his  exami- 
nation. It  was  evident,  from  the  expression  of  his 
face,  that  there  was  no  hope ;  but  he  applied  him- 
self to  dressing  the  wound,  and  he  and  Miss  Ophelia 
and  Tom  proceeded  composedly  with  this  work, 
amid  the  lamentations  and  sobs  and  cries  of  the 
affrighted  servants,  who  had  clustered  about  the 
doors  and  windows  of  the  verandah. 

"  Now,"  said  the  physician,  "  we  must  turn  all 
these  creatures  out  ;  all  depends  on  his  being  kept 
quiet." 

St.  Clare  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  fixedly  on 
the  distressed  beings,  whom  Miss  Ophelia  and  the 
doctor   were    trying   to  urge    from    the    apartment. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  45  L 

"  Poor  creatures  !  "  he  said,  and  an  expression  of  bit- 
ter self-reproach  passed  over  his  face.  Adolph  ab- 
solutely refused  to  go.  Terror  had  deprived  him  of 
all  presence  of  mind ;  he  threw  himself  along  on  the 
floor,  and  nothing  could  persuade  him  to  rise.  The 
rest  yielded  to  Miss  Ophelia's  urgent  representations, 
that  their  master's  safety  depended  on  their  stillness 
and  obedience. 

St.  Clare  could  say  but  little  ;  he  lay  with  his  eyes 
shut,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  wrestled  with  bitter 
thoughts.  After  a  while,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Tom's, 
who  was  kneeling  beside  him,  and  said,  "  Tom  !  poor 
fellow  ! " 

"  What,  Mas'r  ?  "  said  Tom,  earnestly. 

"  I  am  dying  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  pressing  his  hand  ~ 
"pray!" 

"  If  you  would  like  a  clergyman — "  said  the 
physician. 

St.  Clare  hastily  shook  his  head,  and  said  again 
to  Tom,  more  earnestly,  "  Pray !  " 

And  Tom  did  pray,  with  all  his  mind  and  strength, 
for  the  soul  that  was  passing, — the  soul  that  seemed 
looking  so  steadily  and  mournfully  from  those  larger 
melancholy  blue  eyes.  It  was  literally  prayer  offered 
with  strong  crying  and  tears. 

When  Tom  ceased  to  speak,  St.  Clare  reached  out 
and  took  his  hand,  looking  earnestly  at  him,  but  say- 
ing nothing.  He  closed  his  eyes,  but  still  retained 
his  hold ;  for,  in  the  gates  of  eternity,  the  black 
hand  and  the  white  hold  each  other  with  an  equaL 
clasp.  He  murmured  softly  to  himself,  at  broken 
intervals, 

"  Recordare  Jesu  pie — 

*        *        *        * 

Ne  me  perdas — ille  die 
Quereus  me — sedisti  lassus." 


452  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  :    OR, 

It  was  evident  that  the  words  he  had  been  singing 
that  evening  were  passing  through  his  mind, — words 
of  entreaty  addressed  to  Infinite  Pity.  His  lips 
moved  at  intervals,  as  parts  of  the  hymn  fell 
brokenly  from  them. 

•'  His  mind  is  wandering,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  No  !  it  is  coming  home,  at  last  !  "  said  St.  Clare, 
energetically  ;  "  at  last  !  at  last !  " 

The  effort  of  speaking  exhausted  him.  The  sink- 
ing paleness  of  death  fell  on  him  ;  but  with  it  there 
fell,  as  if  shed  from  the  wings  of  some  pitying  spirit,  a 
beautiful  expression  of  peace,  like  that  of  a  wearied 
child  who  sleeps. 

So  he  lay  for  a  few  moments.  They  saw  that  the 
mighty  hand  was  on  him.  Just  before  the  spirit 
parted,  he  opened  his  eyes,  with  a  sudden  light,  as 
of  joy  and  recognition,  and  said  "  Mother  I "  and 
then  he  was  gone  ! 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    UNPROTECTED. 

We  hear  often  of  the  distress  of  the  negro  serv- 
ants, on  the  loss  of  a  kind  master ;  and  with  good 
reason,  for  no  creature  on  God's  earth  is  left  more 
utterly  unprotected  and  desolate  than  the  slave  in 
these  circumstances. 

The  child  who  has  lost  a  father  has  still  the  protec- 
tion of  friends,  and  of  the  law  ;  he  is  something,  and 
can  do  something, — has  acknowledged  rights  and 
position  ;  the  slave  has  none.  The  law  regards  him, 
in  every  respect,  as  devoid  of  rights  as  a  bale  of 
merchandise.  The  only  possible  acknowledgment 
of  any  of  the  longings  and  wants  of  a  human  and 
immortal  creature,  which  are  given  to  him,  comes  to 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  453 

him  through  the  sovereign  and  irresponsible  will  of 
his  master  ;  and  when  that  master  is  stricken  down, 
nothing  remains. 

The  number  of  those  men  who  know  how  to  use 
wholly  irresponsible  power  humanely  and  generously 
is  small.  Everybody  knows  this,  and  the  slave 
knows  it  best  of  all ;  so  that  he  feels  that  there  are 
ten  chances  of  his  finding  an  abusive  and  tyrannical 
master,  to  one  of  his  finding  a  considerate  and  kind 
one.  Therefore  is  it  that  the  wail  over  a  kind 
master  is  loud  and  long,  as  well  it  may  be. 

When  St.  Clare  breathed  his  last,  terror  and  con- 
sternation took  hold  of  all  his  household.  He  had 
been  stricken  down  so  in  a  moment,  in  the  flower 
and  strength  of  his  youth  !  Every  room  and  gallery 
of  the  house  resounded  with  sobs  and  shrieks  of 
despair. 

Marie,  whose  nervous  system  ha4  been  enervated 
by  a  constant  course  of  self-indulgence,  had  nothing 
to  support  the  terror  of  the  shock,  and,  at  the  time 
her  husband  breathed  his  last,  was  passing  from  one 
fainting  fit  to  another ;  and  he  to  whom  she  had 
been  joined  in  the  mysterious  tie  of  marriage  passed 
from  her  forever,  without  the  possibility  of  even  a 
parting  word. 

Miss  Ophelia,  with  characteristic  strength  and 
self-control,  had  remained  with  her  kinsman  to  the 
last, — all  eye,  all  ear,  all  attention  ;  doing  every- 
thing of  the  little  that  could  be  done,  and  joining 
with  her  whole  soul  in  the  tender  and  impassioned 
prayers  which  the  poor  slave  had  poured  forth  for 
the  soul  of  his  dying  master. 

When  they  were  arranging  him  for  his  last  rest, 
they  found  upon  his  bosom  a  small,  plain  miniature 
case,  opening  with  a  spring.     It  was  the  miniature 


454  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  :    OR, 

of  a  noble  and  beautiful  female  face  ;  and  on  the  re- 
verse, under  a  crystal,  a  lock  of  dark  hair.  They 
laid  them  back  on  the  lifeless  breast, — dust  to  dust, 
-—poor  mournful  relics  of  early  dreams,  which  once 
made  that  cold  heart  beat  so  warmly  ! 

Tom's  whole  soul  was  filled  with  thoughts  of  eter- 
nity ;  and  while  he  ministered  around  the  lifeless 
clay,  he  did  not  once  think  that  the  sudden  stroke 
had  left  him  in  hopeless  slavery.  He  felt  at  peace 
about  his  master ;  for  in  that  hour,  when  he  had 
poured  forth  his  prayer  into  the  bosom  of  his  Father, 
he  had  found  an  answer  of  quietness  and  assurance 
springing  up  within  himself.  In  the  depths  of  his 
own  affectionate  nature,  he  felt  able  to  perceive 
something  of  the  fulness  of  Divine  love  ;  for  an  old 
oracle  hath  thus  written, — "  He  that  dwelleth  in 
love  dwelleth  in  God,  and  God  in  him."  Tom 
hoped  and  trusted,  and  was  at  peace. 

But  the  funeral  passed,  with  all  its  pageant  of 
black  crape,  and  prayers,  and  solemn  faces ;  and 
back  rolled  the  cool,  muddy  waves  of  every-day 
life ;  and  up  came  the  everlasting  hard  inquiry  of 
"  What  is  to  be  done  next  ? " 

It  rose  to  the  mind  of  Marie,  as,  dressed  in  loose 
morning-robes,  and  surrounded  by  anxious  servants, 
she  sat  up  in  a  great  easy-chair,  and  inspected  sam- 
ples of  crape  and  bombazine.  It  rose  to  Miss 
Ophelia,  who  began  to  turn  her  thoughts  towards 
her  northern  home.  It  rose,  in  silent  terrors,  to  the 
minds  of  the  servants,  who  well  knew  the  unfeeling, 
tyrannical  character  of  the  mistress  in  whose  hands 
they  were  left.  All  knew,  very  well,  that  the  indul- 
gences which  had  been  accorded  to  them  were  not 
from  their  mistress,  but  from  their  master ;  and 
that,  now  he  was  gone,  there  would  be   no   screen 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  455 

between  them  and  every  tyrannous  infliction  which 
a  temper  soured  by  affliction  might  devise. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight  after  the  funeral,  that 
Miss  Ophelia,  busied  one  day  in  her  apartment, 
heard  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door.  She  opened  it,  and 
there  stood  Rosa,  the  pretty  young  quadroon,  whom 
we  have  before  often  noticed,  her  hair  in  disorder, 
and  her  eyes  swelled  with  crying. 

"O,  Miss  Feely,"  she  said,  falling  on  her  knees, 
and  catching  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  "  do,  do  go  to 
Miss  Marie  for  me  !  do  plead  for  me  !  She  's  go- 
in'  to  send  me  out  to  be  whipped, — look  there  !  " 
And  she  handed  to  Miss  Ophelia  a  paper. 

It  was  an  order,  written  in  Marie's  delicate  Ital- 
ian hand,  to  the  master  of  a  whipping-establishment, 
to  give  the  bearer  fifteen  lashes. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  You  know,  Miss  Feely,  I  've  got  such  a  bad 
temper ;  it  's  very  bad  of  me.  I  was  trying  on 
Miss  Marie's  dress,  and  she  slapped  my  face  ;  and 
I  spoke  out  before  I  thought,  and  was  saucy  ;  and 
she  said  that  she  'd  bring  me  down,  and  have  me 
know,  once  for  all,  that  I  was  n't  going  to  be  so 
topping  as  I  had  been  ;  and  she  wrote  this,  and 
says  I  shall  carry  it.  I  'd  rather  she  'd  kill  me, 
right  out." 

Miss  Ophelia  stood  considering,  with  the  paper 
in  her  hand. 

"  You  see,  Miss  Feely,"  said  Rosa,  "  I  don't  mind 
the  whipping  so  much,  if  Miss  Marie  or  you  was  to 
do  it  ;  but,  to  be  sent  to  a  man/  and  such  a  horrid 
man, — the  shame  of  it,  Miss  Feely  !  " 

Miss  Ophelia  well  knew  that  it  was  the  universal 
custom  to  send  women  and  young  girls  to  whipping- 


456  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

houses,  to  the  hands  of  the  lowest  of  men, — men 
vile  enough  to  make  this  their  profession, — there  to 
be  subjected  to  brutal  exposure  and  shameful  cor- 
rection. She  had  known  it  before  ;  but  hitherto  she 
had  never  realized  it,  till  she  saw  the  slender  form 
of  Rosa  almost  convulsed  with  distress.  All  the 
honest  blood  of  womanhood,  the  strong  New  Eng- 
land blood  of  liberty,  flushed  to  her  cheeks,  and 
throbbed  bitterly  in  her  indignant  heart;  but,  with 
habitual  prudence  and  self-control,  she  mastered 
herself,  and,  crushing  the  paper  firmly  in  her  hand, 
she  merely  said  to  Rosa, 

"  Sit  down,  child,  while  I  go  to  your  mistress." 

"  Shameful !  monstrous  !  outrageous  !  "  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  was  crossing  the  parlor. 

She  found  Marie  sitting  up  in  her  easy-chair,  with 
Mammy  standing  by  her,  combing  her  hair  ;  Jane 
sat  on  the  ground  before  her,  busy  in  chafing  her 
feet. 

"How  do  you  find'  yourself,  to-day?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

A  deep  sigh,  and  a  closing  of  the  eyes,  was  the 
only  reply,  for  a  moment ;  and  then  Marie  answered, 
"  O,  I  don't  know,  Cousin  ;  I  suppose  I  'm  as  well  as 
I  ever  shall  be  !  "  and  Marie  wiped  her  eyes  with  a 
cambric  handkerchief,  bordered  with  an  inch  deep 
of  black. 

"  I  came,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  with  a  short,  dry 
cough,  such  as  commonly  introduces  a  difficult  sub- 
ject,— "  I  came  to  speak  with  you  about  poor  Rosa." 

Marie's  eyes  were  open  wide  enough  now,  and  a 
flush  rose  to  her  sallow  cheeks,  as  she  answered, 
sharply, 

"  Well,  what  about  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  sorry  for  her  fault." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  457 

"  She  is,  is  she  ?  She  '11  be  sorrier,  before  I  've 
done  with  her !  I  've  endured  that  child's  impu- 
dence long  enough  ;  and  now  I  '11  bring  her  down? 
— I  '11  make  her  lie  in  the  dust !  " 

"  But  could  not  you  punish  her  some  other  way,, 
— some  way  that  would  be  less  shameful  ?  " 

"I  mean  to  shame  her;  that's  just  what  I  want. 
She  has  all  her  life  presumed  on  her  delicacy,  and 
her  good  looks,  and  her  lady-like  airs,  till  she  for- 
gets who  she  is ; — and  I  '11  give  her  one  lesson  that 
will  bring  her  down,  I  fancy  !  " 

"  But,  Cousin,  consider  that,  if  you  destroy  del- 
icacy and  a  sense  of  shame  in  a  young  girl,  you 
deprave  her  very  fast." 

"  Delicacy  !  "  said  Marie,  with  a  scornful  laugh, — 
"  a  fine  word  for  such  as  she  !  I  '11  teach  her,  with 
all  her  airs,  that  she  's  no  better  than  the  raggedest 
black  wench  that  walks  the  streets !  She  '11  take  no- 
more  airs  with  me  !  " 

"  You  will  answer  to  God  for  such  cruelty  !  "  said 
Miss  Ophelia,  with  energy. 

"  Cruelty, — I  'd  like  to  know  what  the  cruelty  is  £ 
I  wrote  orders  for  only  fifteen  lashes,  and  told  him 
to  put  them  on  lightly.  I  'm  sure  there  's  no  cruelty 
there  !  " 

"  No  cruelty  !  "  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  I  'm  sure 
any  girl  might  rather  be  killed  outright !  " 

"  It  might  seem  so  to  anybody  with  your  feeling ; 
but  all  these  creatures  get  used  to  it ;  it  's  the  only- 
way  they  can  be  kept  in  order.  Once  let  them  feel 
that  they  are  to  take  any  airs  about  delicacy,  and  all 
that,  and  they  '11  run  all  over  you,  just  as  my  serv- 
ants always  have.  I  've  begun  now  to  bring  them 
under;  and  I '11  have  them  all  to  know  that  I'll 
send  one  out  to  be  whipped,  as  soon. as  another,  if 


45S  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

they  don't  mind  themselves  !  "  said  Marie,  looking 
around  her  decidedly. 

Jane  hung1  her  head  and  cowered  at  this,  for  she 
felt  as  if  it  was  particularly  directed  to  her.  Miss 
Ophelia  sat  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  had  swallowed 
some  explosive  mixture,  and  were  ready  to  burst. 
Then,  recollecting  the  utter  uselessness  of  conten- 
tion with  such  a  nature,  she  shut  her  lips  resolutely, 
gathered  herself  up,  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

It  was  hard  to  go  back  and  tell  Rosa  that  she 
could  do  nothing  for  her ;  and,  shortly  after,  one  of 
the  man-servants  came  to  say  that  her  mistress  had 
ordered  him  to  take  Rosa  with  him  to  the  whipping- 
house,  whither  she  was  hurried,  in  spite  of  her  tears 
and  entreaties. 

A  few  days  after,  Tom  was  standing  musing  by 
the  balconies,  when  he  was  joined  by  Adolph,  who, 
since  the  death  of  his  master,  had  been  entirely  crest- 
fallen and  disconsolate.  Adolph  knew  that  he  had 
always  been  an  object  of  dislike  to  Marie ;  but  while 
his  master  lived  he  had  paid  but  little  attention 
to  it.  Now  that  he  was  gone,  he  had  moved  about 
in  daily  dread  and  trembling,  not  knowing  what 
might  befall  him  next.  Marie  had  held  several 
consultations  with  her  lawyer ;  after  communicating 
with  St.  Clare's  brother,  it  was  determined  to 
sell  the  place,  and  all  the  servants,  except  her  own 
personal  property,  and  these  she  intended  to  take 
with  her,  and  go  back  to  her  father's  plantation. 

"  Do  ye  know,  Tom,  that  we  've  all  got  to  be  sold  ?  " 
said  Adolph. 

"  How  did  you  hear  that  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  I.  hid  myself  behind  the  curtains  when  Missis 
was  talking  with  the  lawyer.  In  a  few  days  we  shall 
all  be  sent  off  to  auction,  Tom." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.         .  459 

"  The  Lord's  will  be  done  !  "  said  Tom,  folding 
his  arms  and  sighing  heavily. 

"  We  '11  never  get  another  such  a  master,"  said 
Adolph,  apprehensively ;  "  but  I  'd  rather  be  sold 
than  take  my  chance  under  Missis." 

Tom  turned  away  ;  his  heart  was  full.  The  hope 
of  liberty,  the  thought  of  distant  wife  and  children, 
rose  up  before  his  patient  soul,  as  to  the  mariner 
shipwrecked  almost  in  port  rises  the  vision  of  the 
church-spire  and  loving  roofs  of  his  native  village, 
seen  over  the  top  of  some  black  wave  only  for  one 
last  farewell.  He  drew  his  arms  tightly  over  his 
bosom,  and  choked  back  the  bitter  tears,  and  tried 
to  pray.  The  poor  old  soul  had  such  a  singular, 
unaccountable  prejudice  in  favor  of  liberty,  that  it 
was  a  hard  wrench  for  him  ;  and  the  more  he  said, 
"  Thy  will  be  done,"  the  worse  he  felt. 

He  sought  Miss  Ophelia,  who,  ever  since  Eva's 
death,  had  treated  him  with  marked  and  respectful 
kindness. 

"  Miss  Feely,"  he  said,  "  Mas  *"r  St.  Clare  promised 
me  my  freedom.  He  told  me  that  he  had  begun  to 
take  it  out  for  me  ;  and  now,  perhaps,  if  Miss  Feely 
would  be  good  enough  to  speak  about  it  to  Missis, 
she  would  feel  like  goin'  on  with  it,  as  it  was  Mas'r 
St.  Clare's  wish." 

"  I  '11  speak  for  you,  Tom,  and  do  my  best,"  said 
Miss  Ophelia  ;  "  but,  if  it  depends  on  Mrs.  St.  Clare, 
I  can't  hope  much  for  you ; — nevertheless,  I  will 
try." 

This  incident  occurred  a  few  days  after  that  of 
Rosa,  while  Miss  Ophelia  was  busied  in  preparations 
to  return  north. 

Seriously  reflecting  within  herself,  she  considered 
that  perhaps  she  had  shown  too  hasty  a  warmth  of 

31 


460  UNCLE   tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

language  in  her  former  interview  with  Marie ;  and 
she  resolved  that  she  would  now  endeavor  to  mod- 
erate her  zeal,  and  to  be  as  conciliatory  as  possible. 
So  the  good  soul  gathered  herself  up,  and,  taking 
her  knitting,  resolved  to  go  into  Marie's  room,  be  as 
agreeable  as  possible,  and  negotiate  Tom's  case  with 
all  the  diplomatic  skill  of  which  she  was  mistress. 

She  found  Marie  reclining  at  length  upon  a 
lounge,  supporting  herself  on  one  elbow  by  pillows, 
while  Jane,  who  had  been  out  shopping,  was  dis- 
playing before  her  certain  samples  of  thin  black 
stuffs. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Marie,  selecting  one  ;  "  only 
I  'm  not  sure  about  its  being  properly  mourning." 

"Laws,  Missis,"  said  Jane,  volubly,  "Mrs.  General 
Derbennon  wore  just  this  very  thing,  after  the 
General  died,  last  summer  •  it  makes  up  lovely  !  " 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  said  Marie  to  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  It  's  a  matter  of  custom,  I  suppose,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia.     "  You  can  judge  about  it  better  than  I." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Marie,  "that  I  haven't  a 
dress  in  the  world  that  I  can  wear ;  and,  as  I  am 
going  to  break  up  the  establishment,  and  go  off, 
next  week,  I  must  decide  upon  something." 

"  Are  you  going  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Yes.  St.  Clare's  brother  has  written,  and  he 
and  the  lawyer  think  that  the  servants  and  furniture 
had  better  be  put  up  at  auction,  and  the  place  left 
with  our  lawyer." 

"  There  's  one  thing  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you 
about,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "Augustine  promised 
Tom  his  liberty,  and  began  the  legal  forms  necessary 
to  it.  I  hope  you  will  use  your  influence  to  have  it 
perfected." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  46 1 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  do  no  such  thing'!  "  said  Marie, 
sharply.  "  Tom  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  serv- 
ants on  the  place, — it  could  n't  be  afforded,  any 
way.  Besides  what  does  he  want  of  liberty  ?  He  's 
a  great  deal  better  off  as  he  is." 

"  But  he  does  desire  it,  very  earnestly,  and  his 
master  promised  it,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  I  dare  say  he  does  want  it,"  said  Marie  ;  "  they 
all  want  it,  just  because  they  are  a  discontented 
set, — always  wanting  what  they  have  n't  got.  Now, 
I  'm  principled  against  emancipating,  in  any  case. 
Keep  a  negro  under  the  care  of  a  master,  and  he 
does  well  enough,  and  is  respectable  ;  but  set  them 
free,  and  they  get  lazy,  and  won't  work,  and  take  to 
drinking,  and  go  all  down  to  be  mean,  worthless 
fellows.  I  've  seen  it  tried,  hundreds  of  times.  It 's 
no  favor  to  set  them  free." 

"  But  Tom  is  so  steady,  industrious,  and  pious." 

a  O,  you  need  n't  tell  me  !  I  've  seen  a  hundred 
like  him.  He  '11  do  very  well,  as  long  as  he  's  taken 
care  of, — that 's  all." 

"  But,  then,  consider,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "  when 
you  set  him  up  for  sale,  the  chances  of  his  getting 
a  bad  master." 

"  O,  that  's  all  humbug  !  "  said  Marie  ;  "  it  is  n't 
one  time  in  a  hundred  that  a  good  fellow  gets  a 
bad  master ;  most  masters  are  good,  for  all  the  talk 
that  is  made.  I  've  lived  and  grown  up  here,  in  the 
South,  and  I  never  yet  was  acquainted  with  a 
master  that  did  n't  treat  his  servants  well, — quite  as 
well  as  is  worth  while.  I  don't  feel  any  fears  on 
that  head." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  energetically,  "I 
know  it  was  one  of  the  last  wishes  of  your  husband 
that  Tom  should  have  his  liberty ;  it  was  one  of 


462  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  j    OR, 

the  promises  that  he  made  to  dear  little  Eva  on  her 
death-bed,  and  I  should  not  think  you  would  feel 
at  liberty  to  disregard  it." 

Marie  had  her  face  covered  with  her  handkerchief 
at  this  appeal,  and  began  sobbing  and  using  her 
smelling-bottle,  with  great  vehemence. 

"  Everybody  goes  against  me  !  "  she  said. 
*' Everybody  is  so  inconsiderate!  I  should  n't 
have  expected  that  you  would  bring  up  all  these  re- 
membrances of  my  troubles  to  me, — it 's  so  incon- 
siderate !  But  nobody  ever  does  consider, — my 
trials  are  so  peculiar !  It's  so  hard,  that  when  I 
had  only  one  daughter,  she  should  have  been 
taken! — and  when  I  had  a  husband  that  just  ex- 
actly suited  me,— and  I  'm  so  hard  to  be  suited  ! — 
he  should  be  taken  !  And  you  seem  to  have  so 
little  feeling  for  me,  and  keep  bringing  it  up  to  me 
so  carelessly, — when  you  know  how  it  overcomes 
me  !  I  suppose  you  mean  well  •  but  it  is  very  in- 
considerate,— very  !  "  And  Marie  sobbed,  and 
gasped  for  breath,  and  called  Mammy  to  open  the 
window,  and  to  bring  her  the  camphor-bottle,  and 
to  bathe  her  head,  and  unhook  her  dress.  And,  in 
the  general  confusion  that  ensued,  Miss  Ophelia 
made  her  escape  to  her  apartment. 

She  saw,  at  once,  that  it  would  do  no  good  to  say 
anything  more  ;  for  Marie  had  an  indefinite  capa- 
city for  hysteric  fits ;  and,  after  this,  whenever  her 
husband's  or  Eva's  wishes  with  regard  to  the  serv- 
ants were  alluded  to,  she  always  found  it  convenient 
to  set  one  in  operation.  Miss  Ophelia,  therefore, 
did  the  next  best  thing  she  could  for  Tom, — she 
wrote  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Shelby  for  him,  stating  his 
troubles,  and  urging  them  to  send  to  his  relief. 

The  next  day,  Tom  and  Adolph,  and  some  half  a 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  463 

dozen  other  servants,  were  marched  down  to  a  slave- 
warehouse,  to  await  the  convenience  of  the  trader, 
who  was  going  to  make  up  a  lot  for  auction. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    SLAVE    WAREHOUSE. 

A  slave  warehouse  !  Perhaps  some  of  my  read- 
ers conjure  up  horrible  visions  of  such  a  place. 
They  fancy  some  foul,  obscure  den,  some  horrible. 
Tartarus  "  informis,  i?ige?is,  cui  hcme?i  ademfltum.,~' 
But  no,  innocent  friend ;  in  these  days  men  have 
learned  the  art  of  sinning  expertly  and  genteelly,  so 
as  not  to  shock  the  eyes  and  senses  of  respectable: 
society.  Human  property  is  high  in  the  market :; 
and  is,  therefore,  well  fed,  well  cleaned,  tended, 
and  looked  after,  that  it  may  come  to  sale  sleek,  and 
strong,  and  shining.  A  slave  warehouse  in  New 
Orleans  is  a  house  externally  not  much  unlike  many- 
others,  kept  with  neatness ;  and  where  every  day 
you  may  see  arranged,  under  a  sort  of  shed  along; 
the  outside,  rows  of  men  and  women,  who  stand 
there  as  a  sign  of  the  property  sold  within. 

Then  you  shall  be ,  courteously  entreated  to  call 
and  examine,  and  shall  find  an  abundance  of 
husbands,  wives,  brothers,  sisters,  fathers,  mothers, 
and  young  children,  to  be  "  sold  separately,  or  in 
lots  to  suit  the  convenience  of  the  purchaser;  "  and 
that  soul  immortal,  once  bought  with  blood  and 
anguish  by  the  Son  of  God,  when  the  earth  shook, 
and  the  rocks  rent,  and  the  graves  were  opened, 
can  be  sold,  leased,  mortgaged,  exchanged  for 
groceries  or  dry  goods,  to  suit  the  phases  of  trade, 
or  the  fancy  of  the  purchaser. 


464  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  the  conversation  be- 
tween Marie  and  Miss  Ophelia,  that  Tom,  Adolph, 
and  about  half  a  dozen  others  of  the  St.  Clare  estate, 
were  turned  over   to   the   loving-   kindness    of   Mr. 

Skeggs,  the  keeper  of  a  depot  on street,  to  await 

the  auction,  next  day. 

Tom  had  with  him  quite  a  sizable  trunk  full  of 
clothing,  as  had  most  others  of  them.  They  were 
ushered,  for  the  night,  into  a  long  room,  where 
many  other  men,  of  all  ages,  sizes,  and  shades  of 
complexion,  were  assembled,  and  from  which  roars 
of  laughter  and  unthinking  merriment  were  proceed- 
ing. 

"Ah,  ha!  that's  right.  Go  it,  boys, — go  it!" 
said  Mr.  Skeggs,  the  keeper.  "  My  people  are 
always  so  merry  !  Sambo,  I  see  !  "  he  said,  speak- 
ing approvingly  to  a  burly  negro  who  was  perform- 
ing tricks  of  low  buffoonery,  which  occasioned  the 
shouts  which  Tom  had  heard. 

As  might  be  magined,  Tom  was  in  no  humor  to 
join  these  proceedings ;  and,  therefore,  setting  his 
trunk  as  far  as  possible  from  the  noisy  group,  he 
.sat  down  on  it,  and  leaned  his  face  against  the  wall. 

The  dealers  in  the  human  article  make  scrupu- 
lous and  systematic  efforts  to  promote  noisy  mirth 
ramong  them,  as  a  means  of  drowning  reflection,  and 
gendering  them  insensible  to  their  condition.  The 
-whole  object  of  the  training  to  which  the  negro  is 
put,  from  the  time  he  is  sold  in  the  northern  market 
till  he  arrives  south,  is  systematically  directed 
towards  making  him  callous,  unthinking,  and  brutal. 
The  slave-dealer  collects  his  gang  in  Virginia  or 
Kentucky,  and  drives  them  to  some  convenient, 
healthy  place, — often  a  watering  place, — to  be  fat- 
tened.    Here  they  are  fed  full  daily ;  and,  because 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  465 

some  incline  to  pine,  a  fiddle  is  kept  commonly  going 
among  them,  and  they  are  made  to  dance  daily ; 
and  he  who  refuses  to  be  merry — in  whose  soul 
thoughts  of  wife,  or  child,  or  home,  are  too  strong 
for  him  to  be  gay — is  marked  as  sullen  and  danger- 
ous and  subjected  to  all  the  evils  which  the  ill  will 
of  an  utterly  irresponsible  and  hardened  man  can 
inflict  upon  him.  Briskness,  alertness,  and  cheer- 
fulness of  appearance,  especially  before  observers, 
are  constantly  enforced  upon  them,  both  by  the 
hope  of  thereby  getting  a  good  master,  and  the  fear 
of  all  that  the  driver  may  bring  upon  them,  if  they 
prove  unsalable. 

"  What  dat  ar  nigger  doin'  here  ?  "  said  Sambo, 
coming  up  to  Tom,  after  Mr.  Skeggs  had  left  the 
room.  Sambo  was  a  full  black,  of  great  size,  very 
lively,  voluble,  and  full  of  trick  and  grimace. 

"  What  you  doin'  here  ?  "  said  Sambo,  coming  up 
\f>  Tom,  and  poking  him  facetiously  in  the  side. 
"  Meditatin',  eh  ?  " 

"  I  am  to  be  sold  at  the  auction,  to-morrow ! " 
said  Tom,  quietly. 

"  Sold  at  auction, — haw  !  haw  !  boys,  an't  this 
yer  fun  ?  I  wish't  I  was  gwine  that  ar  way  ! — tell 
ye,  would  n't  I  make  em  laugh  ?  But  how  is  it, — dis 
yer  whole  lot  gwine  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Sambo,  lay- 
ing his  hand  freely  on  Adolph's  shoulder. 

"  Please  to  let  me  alone  !  "  said  Adolph,  fiercely, 
straightening  himself  up,  with  extreme  disgust. 

"  Law,  now,  boys  !  dis  yer  's  one  o'  yer  white 
niggers, — kind  o'  cream  color,  ye  know,  scented  !  " 
said  he,  coming  up  to  Adolph  and  snuffing.  "  O, 
Lor  !  he  'd  do  for  a  tobaccer-shop  ;  they  could  keep 
him  to  scent  snuff  !  Lor,  he  'd  keep  a  whole  shop 
agwine, — he  would  !  " 


466  UNCLE    TOM?S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  I  say,  keep  off,  can't  you  ? "  said  Adolph,  en- 
raged. 

"  Lor,  now,  how  touchy  we  is, — we  white  nig- 
gers !  Look  at  us,  now ! "  and  Sambo  gave  a 
ludicrous  imitation  of  Adolph's  manner ;  "  here 's 
de  airs  and  graces.  We  's  been  in  a  good  family,  I 
specs." 

"  Yes,'"  said  Adolph  ;  "  I  had  a  master  that  could 
have  bought  you  all  for  old  truck !  " 

"  Laws,  now,  only  think,"  said  Sambo,  .  the  gentle- 
mens  that  we  is  !  " 

"  I  belonged  to  the  St.  Clare  family,"  said  Adolph, 
proudly. 

"  Lor,  you  did  !  Be  hanged  if  they  ar'  n't  lucky 
to  get  shet  of  ye.  Spects  they 's  gwine  to  trade  ye 
off  with  a  lot  o'  cracked  tea-pots  an'  sich  like !  "  said 
Sambo,  with  a  provoking  grin. 

Adolph,  enraged  at  this  taunt,  flew  furiously  at 
his  adversary,  swearing  and  striking  on  every  side 
of  him.  The  rest  laughed  and  shouted,  and  the  up- 
roar brought  the  keeper  to  the  door. 

"  What  now,  boys  ?  Order, — order  !  "  he  said,, 
coming  in  and  flourishing  a  large  whip. 

All  fled  in  different  directions,  except  Sambo,, 
who,  presuming  on  the  favor  which  the  keeper  had 
to  him  as  a  licensed  wag,  stood  his  ground,  ducking 
his  head  with  a  facetious  grin,  whenever  the  master 
made  a  dive  at  him. 

"  Lor,  Mas'r,  'tan't  us, — we  's  reglar  stiddy, — it 's 
these  yer  new  hands ;  they 's  real  aggravating — 
kinder  pickin'  at  us,  all  time  !  " 

The  keeper,  at  this,  turned  upon  Tom  and  Adolph,, 
and  distributing  a  few  kicks  and  cuffs  without  much 
inquiry,  and  leaving  general  orders  for  all  to  be 
good  boys  and  go  to  sleep,  left  the  apartment. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  467 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  in  the  men's  sleep- 
ing-room, the  reader  may  be  curious  to  take  a  peep 
at  the  corresponding  apartment  allotted  to  the 
women.  Stretched  out  in  various  attitudes  over  the 
floor,  he  may  see  numberless  sleeping  forms  of  every 
shade  of  complexion,  from  the  purest  ebony  to 
white,  and  of  all  years,  from  childhood  to  old  age, 
lying  now  asleep.  Here  is  a  fine  bright  girl,  of  ten 
years,  whose  mother  was  sold  only  yesterday,  and 
who  to-night  cried  herself  to  sleep  when  nobody  was- 
looking  at  her.  Here,  a  worn  old  negress,  whose: 
thin  arms  and  callous  fingers  tell  of  hard  toil,  wait- 
ing to  be  sold  to-morrow,  as  a  cast-off  article,  for 
what  can  be  got  for  her ;  and  some  forty  or  fifty 
others,  with  heads  variously  enveloped  in  blankets- 
or  articles  of  clothing,  lie  stretched  around  them. 
But,  in  a  corner,  sitting  apart  from  the  rest,  are  two* 
females  of  a  more  interesting  appearance  than  com- 
mon. One  of  these  is  a  respectably-dressed  mulatto* 
woman  between  forty  and  fifty,  with  soft  eyes  and  a. 
gentle  and  pleasing  physiognomy.  She  has  on  her 
head  a  high-raised  turban,  made  of  a  gay  red  Mad- 
ras handkerchief,  of  the  first  quality,  and  her  dress 
is  neatly  fitted,  and  of  good  material,  showing  that 
she  has  been  provided  for  with  a  careful  hand.  By 
her  side,  and  nestling  close  to  her,  is  a  young  girl 
of  fifteen, — her  daughter.  She  is  a  quadroon,  as. 
may  be  seen  from  her  fair  complexion,  though  her 
likeness  to  her  mother  is  quite  discernible.  She  has 
the  same  soft,  dark  eye,  with  longer  lashes,  and  her 
curling  hair  is  of  a  luxuriant  brown.  She  also  is 
dressed  with  great  neatness,  and  her  white,  delicate 
hands  betray  very  little  acquaintance  with  servile 
toil.  These  two  ar^  to  be  sold  to-morrow,  in  the 
same  lot  with  the  St.  Clare  servants  ;  and  the  gentle- 


468  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  I    OR, 

man  to  whom  they  belong,  and  to  whom  the  money 
for  their  sale  is  to  be  transmitted,  is  a  member  of  a 
Christian  church  in  New  York,  who  will  receive  the 
money,  and  go  thereafter  to  the  sacrament  of  his 
Lord  and  theirs,  and  think  no  more  of  it. 

These  two,  whom  we  shall  call  Susan  and  Emme- 
line,  had  been  the  personal  attendants  of  an  amiable 
and  pious  lady  of  New  Orleans,  by  whom  they  had 
been  carefully  and  piously  instructed  and  trained. 
They  had  been  taught  to  read  and  write,  diligently 
instructed  in  the  truths  of  religion,  and  their  lot  had 
been  as  happy  an  one  as  in  their  condition  it  was 
possible  to  be.  But  the  only  son  of  their  protec- 
tress had  the  management  of  her  property ;  and,  by 
carelessness  and  extravagance  involved  it  to  a  large 
amount,  and  at  last  failed.  One  of  the  largest 
creditors  was  the  respectable  firm  of  B.  &  Co.,  in 
New  York.  B.  &  Co.  wrote  to  their  lawyer  in  New 
Orleans,  who  attached  the  real  estate  (these  two 
articles  and  a  lot  of  plantation  hands  formed  the 
most  valuable  part  of  it),  and  wrote  word  to  that 
effect  to  New  York.  Brother  B.,  being,  as  we  have 
said,  a  Christian  man,  and  a  resident  in  a  free  State, 
felt  some  uneasiness  on  the  subject.  He  did  n't 
like  trading  in  slaves  and  souls  of  men, — of  course 
he  did  n't ;  but,  then,  there  were  thirty  thousand 
dollars  in  the  case,  and  that  was  rather  too  much 
money  to  be  lost  for  a  principle  ;  and  so,  after  much 
considering,  and  asking  advice  from  those  that  he 
knew  would  advise  to  suit  him,  Brother  B.  wrote  to 
his  lawyer  to  dispose  of  the  business  in  the  way  that 
seemed  to  him  the  most  suitable,  and  remit  the  pro- 
ceeds. 

The  day  after  the  letter  arrived  in  New  Orleans, 
Susan  and  Emmeline  were  attached,  and  sent  to  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  469 

depot  to  await  a  general  auction  on  the  following 
morning ;  and  as  they  glimmer  faintly  upon  us  in 
the  moonlight  which  steals  through  the  grated  win- 
dow, we  may  listen  to  their  conversation.  Both  are 
weeping,  but  each  quietly,  that  the  other  may  not 
liear. 

"  Mother,  just  lay  your  head  on  my  lap,  and  see  if 
you  can't  sleep  a  little,"  says  the  girl,  trying  to 
appear  calm.  , 

"  I  have  n't  any  heart  to  sleep,  Em  ;  I  can't ;  it 's 
the  last  night  we  may  be  together !  " 

"  O,  mother,  don't  say  so !  perhaps  we  shall  get 
sold  together, — who  knows  ?  " 

•  If 't  was  anybody's  else  case,  I  should  say  so, 
too,  Em,"  said  the  woman ;  "  but  I  'm  so  feard  of 
losin'  you  that  I  don't  see  anything  but  the  danger." 

"  Why,  mother,  the  man  said  we  were  both  likely, 
and  would  sell  well." 

Susan  remembered  the  man's  looks  and  words. 
With  a  deadly  sickness  at  her  heart,  she  remembered 
liovv  he  had  looked  at  Emmeline's  hands,  and  lifted 
xrp  her  curly  hair,  and  pronounced  her  a  first-rate 
article.  Susan  had  been  trained  as  a  Christian, 
"brought  up  in  the  daily  reading  of  the  Bible,  and 
had  the  same  horror  of  her  child's  being  sold  to  a 
life  of  shame  that  any  other  Christian  mother  might 
have ;  but  she  had  no  hope, — no  protection. 

"  Mother,  I  think  we  might  do  first  rate,  if  you 
could  get  a  place  as  cook,  and  I  as  chamber-maid  or 
seamstress,  in  some  family.  I  dare  say  we  shall. 
Let 's  both  look  as  bright  and  lively  as  we  can,  and 
tell  all  we  can  do,  and  perhaps  we  shall,"  said 
Emmeline. 

"  I  want  you  to  brush  your  hair  all  back  straight, 
to-morrow,"  said  Susan. 


47°  uncle  tom's  cabin:  or, 

"  What  for,  mother  ?  I  don't  look  near  so  well? 
that  way." 

"  Yes,  but  you  '11  sell  better  so." 

"  I  don't  see  why  !  "  said  the  child. 

"  Respectable  families  would  be  more  apt  to  buy 
you,  if  they  saw  you  looked  plain  and  decent,  as  if 
you  was  n  't  trying  to  look  handsome.  I  know  their 
ways  better  'n  you  do,"  said  Susan. 

"  Well,  mother,  then  I  will." 

"  And,  Emmeline,  if  we  should  n 't  ever  see  each 
other  again,  after  to-morrow, — if  I  'm  sold  way  up* 
on  a  plantation  somewhere,  and  you  somewhere  else, 
— always  remember  how  you  've  been  brought  up,, 
and  all  Missis  has  told  you ;  take  your  Bible  with 
you,  and  your  hymn-book ;  and  if  you're  faithful  to 
the  Lord,  he  '11    be  faithful  to  you." 

So  speaks  the  poor  soul,  in  sore  discouragement; 
for  she  knows  that  to-morrow  any  man,  however 
vile  and  brutal,  however  godless  and  merciless,  if 
he  only  has  money  to  pay  for  her,  may  become, 
owner  of  her  daughter,  body  and  soul ;  and  then, 
how  is  the  child  to  be  faithful  ?  She  thinks  of  all 
this,  as  she  holds  her  daughter  in  her  arms,  and 
wishes  that  she  were  not  handsome  and  attractive. 
It  seems  almost  an  aggravation  to  her  to  remember 
how  purely  and  piously,  how  much  above  the  or- 
dinary lot,  she  has  been  brought  up.  But  she  has 
no  resort  but  to  pray ;  and  many  such  prayers  to* 
God  have  gone  up  from  those  same  trim,  neatly- 
arranged,  respectable  slave-prisons, — prayers  which 
God  has  not  forgotten,  as  a  coming  day  shall  show; 
for  it  is  written,  "  Whoso  causeth  one  of  these  little 
ones  to  offend,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a  mill- 
stone were  hanged  about  his  neck,  and  that  he  were 
drowned  in  the  depths  of  the  sea." 


LIFZ    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  471 

The  soft,  earnest,  quiet  moonbeam  looks  in  fixedly 
marking  the  bars  of  the  grated  windows  on  the  pros- 
trate, sleeping  forms.  The  mother  and  daughter 
are  singing  together  a  wild  and  melancholy  dirge, 
common  as  a  funeral  hymn  among  the  slaves  : 

"  O,  where  is  weeping  Mary  ? 
O,  where  is  weeping  Mary  ? 

'Rived  in  the  goodly  land.    • 
She  is  dead  and  gone  to  Heaven  ; 
She  is  dead  and  gone  to  Heaven  ; 

'Rived  in  the  goodly  land." 

These  words,  sung  by  voices  of  a  peculiar  and 
melancholy  sweetness,  in  an  air  which  seemed  like 
the  sighing  of  earthly  despair  after  heavenly  hope, 
floated  through  the  dark  prison  rooms  with  a  pathetic 
cadence,  as  verse  after  verse  was  breathed  out : 

"  O,  where  are  Paul  and  Silas  ? 
O,  where  are  Paul  and  Silas  ? 

Gone  to  the  goodly  land. 
They  are  dead  and  gone  to  Heaven  ; 
They  are  dead  and  gone  to  Heaven  ; 
'Rived  in  the  goodly  land." 

Sing  on,  poor  souls  !  The  night  is  short,  and  the 
morning  will  part  you  forever  ! 

But  now  it  is  morning,  and  everybody  is  astir , 
and  the  worthy  Mr.  Skeggs  is  busy  and  bright,  for 
a  lot  of  goods  is  to  be  fitted  out  for  auction.  There 
is  a  brisk  look-out  on  the  toilet ;  injunctions  passed 
around  to  every  one  to  put  on  their  best  face  and 
be  spry ;  and  now  all  are  arranged  in  a  circle  for 
a  last  review,  before  they  are  marched  up  to  the 
Bourse. 

Mr.  Skeggs,  with  his  palmetto  on  and  his  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  walks  around  to  put  farewell  touches 
on  his  wares. 

"  How  's  this  ?  "  he  said,  stepping  in  front  of 
Susan  and  Emmeline.     "  Where  's  your  curls,  gal  ?  " 


472  UNCLE   TOMS   CABIN  :    OKy 

The  girl  looked  timidly  at  her  mother,  who,  with 
the  smooth  adroitness  common  among  her  class, 
answers, 

"  I  was  telling  her,  last  night,  to  put  up  her  hair 
smooth  and  neat,  and  not  havin'  it  flying  about  in 
curls  ;  looks  more  respectable  so." 

"  Bother  !  "  said  the  man,  peremptorily,  turning 
to  the  girl ;  "  you  go  right  along,  and  curl  yourself 
real  smart !  "  He  added,  giving  a  crack  to  a  rattan 
he  held  in  his  hand,  "  And  be  back  in  quick  time, 
too ! " 

'1  You  go  and  help  her,"  he  added,  to  the  mother. 
"  Them  curls  may  make  a  hundred  dollars  difference 
in  the  sale  of  her." 

Beneath  a  splendid  dome  were  men  of  all  nations, 
moving  to  and  fro,  over  the  marble  pave.  On  every 
side  of  the  circular  area  were  little  tribunes,  or  sta- 
tions, for  the  use  of  speakers  and  auctioneers.  Two 
of  these,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  area,  were  now 
occupied  by  brilliant  and  talented  gentlemen,  en- 
thusiastically forcing  up,  in  English  and  French 
commingled,  the  bids  of  connoisseurs  in  their  vari- 
ous wares.  A  third  one,  on  the  other  side,  still  un- 
occupied, was  surrounded  by  a  group,  waiting  the 
moment  of  sale  to  begin.  And  here  we  may  recog- 
nize the  St.  Clare  servants, — Tom,  Adolph,  and 
others  ;  and  there,  too,  Susan  and  Emmeline,  await- 
ing their  turn  with  anxious  and  dejected  faces. 
Various  spectators,  intending  to  purchase,  or  not  in- 
tending, as  the  case  might  be,  gathered  around  the 
group,  handling,  examining,  and  commenting  on 
their  various  points  and  faces  with  the  same  freedom 
that  a  set  of  jockeys  discuss  the  merits  of  a  horse. 

"  Hulloa,  Alf !  what  brings  you  here  ? "    said  a. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  473 

young  exquisite,  slapping  the  shoulder  of  a  sprucely- 
dressed  young  man,  who  was  examining  Adolph 
through  an  eye-glass. 

"  Well,  I  was  wanting  a  valet,  and  I  heard  that 
St.  Clare  's  lot  was  going.  I  thought  I  'd  just  look 
at  his—" 

"  Catch  me  ever  buying  any  of  St.  Clare's  people  ! 
Spoilt  niggers,  every  one.  Impudent  as  the  devil  1 " 
said  the  other. 

"  Never  fear  that !  "  said  the  first.  "  If  I  get  'em, 
I  '11  soon  have  their  airs  out  of  them  ;  they  '11  soon 
find  that  they  've  another  kind  of  master  to  deal 
with  than  Monsieur  St.  Clare.  'Pon  my  word,  I  '11 
buy  that  fellow.     I  like  the  shape  of  him." 

"  You  '11  find  it  '11  take  all  you  've  got  to  keep 
him.     He  's  deucedly  extravagant !  " 

"  Yes,  but  my  lord  will  find  that  he  can't  be  ex- 
travagant with  me.  Just  let  him  be  sent  to  the  cala- 
boose a  few  times,  and  thoroughly  dressed  down ! 
I  '11  tell  you  if  it  don't  bring  him  to  a  sense  of  his 
ways  !  O,  I  '11  reform  him,  up  hill  and  down, — 
you  '11  see.     I  buy  him,  that 's  flat !  " 

Tom  had  been  standing  wistfully  examining  the 
multitude  of  faces  thronging  around  him,  for  one 
whom  he  would  wish  to  call  master.  And  if  you 
should  ever  be  under  the  necessity,  sir,  of  selecting, 
out  of  two  hundred  men,  one  who  was  to  become 
your  absolute  owner  and  disposer,  you  would,  per- 
haps, realize,  just  as  Tom  did,  how  few  there  were 
that  you  would  feel  at  all  comfortable  in  being  made 
over  to.  Tom  saw  abundance  of  men, — great,  burly, 
gruff  men  ;  little,  chirping,  dried  men  ;  long-favored, 
lank,  hard  men  ;  and  every  variety  of  stubbed-look- 
ing,  commonplace  men,  who  pick  up  their  fellow- 
men  as   one  picks  up  chips,  putting  them  into  the 


474  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

fire  or  a  basket  with  equal  unconcern,  according  to 
their  convenience ;  but  he  saw  no  St.  Clare. 

A  little  before  the  sale  commenced,  a  short,  broad, 
muscular  man,  in  a  checked  shirt  considerably  open 
at  the  bosom,  and  pantaloons  much  the  worse  for 
dirt  and  wear,  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
like  one  who  is  going  actively  into  business ;  and, 
coming  up  to  the  group,  began  to  examine  them  sys- 
tematically. From  the  moment  that  Tom  saw  him 
approaching,  he  felt  an  immediate  and  revolting 
horror  at  him,  that  increased  as  he  came  near.  He 
was  evidently,  though  short,  of  gigantic  strength. 
His  round,  bullet  head,  large,  light-gray  eyes,  with 
their  shaggy,  sandy  eye-brows,  and  stiff,  wiry,  sun- 
burned hair,  were  rather  unprepossessing  items,  it 
is  to  be  confessed ;  his  large,  coarse  mouth  was  dis- 
tended with  tobacco,  the  juice  of  which,  from  time 
to  time,  he  ejected  from  him  with  great  decision  and 
explosive  force  ;  his  hands  were  immensely  large, 
hairy,  sun-burned,  freckled,  and  very  dirty,  and  gar- 
nished with  long  nails,  in  a  very  foul  condition. 
This  man  proceeded  to  a  very  free  personal  ex- 
amination of  the  lot.  He  seized  Tom  by  the  jaw, 
and  pulled  open  his  mouth  to  inspect  his  teeth  ; 
made  him  strip  up  his  sleeve,  to  show  his  muscle ; 
turned  him  round,  made  him  jump  ahd  spring  to 
show  his  paces. 

"  Where  was  you  raised  ? "  he  added,  briefly,  to 
these  investigations. 

"  In  Kintuck,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  looking  about, 
as  if  for  deliverance. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  " 
•  "  Had  care  of  MasVs  farm,"  said  Tom. 

"  Likely  story !  "  said  the  other,  shortly,  as  he 
passed  on.     He  paused  a  moment  before   Dolph  ; 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  475 

then  spitting  a  discharge  of  tobacco-juice  on  his 
well-blacked  boots,  and  giving  a  contemptuous  umph, 
he  walked  on.  Again  he  stopped  before  Susan 
and  Emmeline.  He  put  out  his  heavy  dirty  hand, 
and  drew  the  girl  towards  him  ;  passed  it  over  her 
neck  and  bust,  felt  her  arms,  looked  at  her  teeth, 
and  then  pushed  her  back  against  her  mother, 
whose  patient  face  showed  the  suffering  she  had 
been  going  through  at  every  motion  of  the  hideous 
stranger. 

The  girl  was  frightened,  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Stop  that,  you  minx  ! "  said  the  salesman  ;  "no 
whimpering  here, — the  sale  is  going  to  begin." 
And  accordingly  the  sale  begun. 

Adolph  was  knocked  off,  at  a  good  sum,  to  the 
young  gentleman  who  had  previously  stated  his 
intention  of  buying  him  ;  and  the  other  servants  of 
the  St.  Clare  lot  went  to  various  bidders. 

"  Now,  up  with  you,  boy  !  d'  ye  hear  ? "  said  the 
auctioneer  to  Tom. 

Tom  stepped  upon  the  block,  gave  a  few  anxious 
looks  round  ;  all  seemed  mingled  in  a  common,  in- 
distinct noise, — the  clatter  of  the  salesman  crying 
off  his  qualifications  in  French  and  English,  the 
quick  fire  of  French  and  English  bids  ;  and  almost 
in  a  moment  came  the  final  thump  of  the  hammer, 
and  the  clear  ring  on  the  last  syllable  of  the  word 
" dollars"  as  the  auctioneer  announced  his  price, 
and  Tom  was  made  over. — He  had  a  master  ! 

He  was  pushed  from  the  block  • — the  short,  bullet- 
headed  man  seizing  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder, 
pushed  him  to  one  side,  saying  in  a  harsh  voice, 
u  Stand  there,  you  /" 

Tom  hardly  realized  anything ;  but  still  the  bid- 
ding went  on, — rattling,  clattering,  now  French, 
32 


476  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

now  English.  Down  goes  the  hammer  again, — 
Susan  is  sold  !  She  goes  down  from  the  block, 
stops,  looks  wistfully  back, — her  daughter  stretches 
her  hands  towards  her.  She  looks  with  agony 
in  the  face  of  the  man  who  has  bought  her, — a 
respectable  middle-aged  man,  of  benevolent  coun- 
tenance. 

"  O,  Mas'r,  please  do  buy  my  daughter  !  " 

"  I'd  like  to,  but  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  afford  it !  " 
said  the  gentleman,  looking,  with  painful  interest, 
as  the  young  girl  mounted  the  block,  and  looked 
around  her  with  a  frightened  and  timid  glance. 

The  blood  flushes  painfully  in  her  otherwise- 
colorless  cheek,  her  eye  has  a  feverish  fire,  and 
her  mother  groans  to  see  that  she  looks  more  beau- 
tiful than  she  ever  saw  her  before.  The  auctioneer 
sees  his  advantage,  and  expatiates  volubly  in  mingled 
French  and  English,  and  bids  rise  in  rapid  succes- 
sion. 

"  I  '11  do  anything  in  reason,"  said  the  benevolent- 
looking  gentleman,  pressing  in  and  joining  with  the 
bids.  In  a  few  moments  they  have  run  beyond  his 
purse.  He  is  silent ;  the  auctioneer  grows  warmer ; 
but  bids  gradually  drop  off.  It  lies  now  between 
an  aristocratic  old  citizen  and  our  bullet-headed 
acquaintance.  The  citizen  bids  for  a  few  turns, 
contemptuously  measuring  his  opponent  ;  but  the 
bullet-head  has  the  advantage  over  him,  both  in 
obstinacy  and  concealed  length  of  purse,  and  the 
controversy  lasts  but  a  moment ;  the  hammer  falls, 
— he  has  got  the  girl,  body  and  soul,  unless  God 
help  her ! 

Her  master  is  Mr.  Legree,  who  owns  a  cotton 
plantation  on  the  Red  river.  She  is  pushed  along 
into  the  same  lot  with  Tom  and  two  other  men,  and 
goes  off,  weeping  as  she  goes. 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  477 

The  benevolent  gentleman  is  sorry ;  but,  then, 
the  thing  happens  every  day  !  One  sees  girls  and 
mothers  crying,  at  these  sales,  always !  it  can't  be 
helped,  &c. ;  and  he  walks  off,  with  his  acquisition, 
in  another  direction. 

Two  days  after,  the  lawyer  of  the  Christian  firm 
of  B.  &  Co.,  New  York,  sent  on  their  money  to 
them.  On  the  reverse  of  that  draft,  so  obtained, 
let  them  write  these  words  of  the  great  Paymaster, 
to  whom  they  shall  make  up  their  account  in  a  future 
day  :  "  When  he  maketh  inquisition  for  blood,  he 
forgetteth  not  the  cry  of  the  humble  /  " 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  MIDDLE    PASSAGE, 

"  Thou  art  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  evil,  and  canst  not  look  upon  in- 
iquity :  wherefore  lookest  thou  upon  them  that  deal  treacherously,  and  hold- 
est  thy  tongue  when  the  wicked  devoureth  the  man  that  is  more  righteous 
than  he  ?  " — Hab.  i  :  13. 

On  the  lower  part  of  a  small,  mean  boat,  on  the 
Red  river,  Tom  sat, — chains  on  his  wrists,  chains  on 
his  feet,  and  a  weight  heavier  than  chains  lay  on  his 
heart.  All  had  faded  from  his  sky, — moon  and  star  ; 
all  had  passed  by  him,  as  the  trees  and  banks  were 
now  passing  to  return  no  more.  Kentucky  home, 
with  wife  and  children,  and  indulgent  owners  ;  St. 
Clare  home,  with  all  its  refinements  and  splendors ; 
the  golden  head  of  Eva,  with  its  saint-like  eyes ;  the 
proud,  gay,  handsome,  seemingly  careless,  yet  ever- 
kind  St.  Clare  ;  hours  of  ease  and  indulgent  leisure, 
— all  gone  !  and  in  place  thereof,  what  remains  ? 

It  is  one  of  the  bitterest  apportionments  of  a  lot 
of  slavery,  that  the  negro,  sympathetic  and  assimi- 
lative, after  acquiring,  in  a  refined  family,  the  tastes 


47$  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

and  feelings  which  form  the  atmosphere  of  such  a 
place,  is  not  the  less  liable  to  become  the  bond-slave 
of  the  coarsest  and  most  brutal, — just  as  a  chair 
or  table,  which  once  decorated  the  superb  saloon, 
comes,  at  last,  battered  and  defaced,  to  the  bar- 
room of  some  filthy  tavern,  or  some  low  haunt  of 
vulgar  debauchery.  The  great  difference  is,  that 
the  table  and  chair  cannot  feel,  and  the  man  can ; 
for  even  a  legal  enactment  that  he  shall  be  "  taken, 
reputed,  adjudged  in  law,  to  be  a  chattel  personal," 
cannot  blot  out  his  soul,  with  its  own  private  little 
world  of  memories,  hopes,  loves,  fears,  and  desires. 

Mr.  Simon  Legree,  Tom's  master,  had  purchased 
slaves  at  one  place  and  another,  in  New  Orleans,  to 
the  number  of  eight,  and  driven  them,  handcuffed, 
in  couples  of  two  and  two,  down  to  the  good  steamer 
Pirate,  which  lay  at  the  levee,  ready  for  a  trip  up 
the  Red  river. 

Having  got  them  fairly  on  board,  and  the  boat 
being  off,  he  came  round,  with  that  air  of  efficiency 
which  ever  characterized  him,  to  take  a  review  of 
them.  Stopping  opposite  to  Tom,  who  had  been 
attired  for  sale  in  his  best  broadcloth  suit,  with 
well-starched  linen  and  shining  boots,  he  briefly 
expressed  himself  as  follows  : 

*  Stand  up." 

Tom  stood  up. 

"  Take  off  that  stock  !  "  and,  as  Tom,  encumbered 
by  his  fetters,  proceeded  to  do  it,  he  assisted  him, 
by  pulling  it,  with  no  gentle  hand,  from  his  neck, 
and  putting  it  in  his  pocket. 

Legree  now  turned  to  Tom's  trunk,  which,  pre- 
vious to  this,  he  had  been  ransacking,  and,  taking 
from  it  a  pair  of  old  pantaloons  and  a  dilapidated 
coat,  which  Tom  had  been  wont  to  put  on  about  his 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  479 

stable-work,  he  said,  liberating  Tom's  hands  from 
the  handcuffs,  and  pointing  to  a  recess  in  among  the 
boxes, 

"  You  go  there,  and  put  these  on." 

Tom  obeyed,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned. 

"  Take  off  your  boots,"  said  Mr.  Legree. 

Tom  did  so. 

"  There,"  said  the  former,  throwing  him  a  pair  of 
coarse  stout  shoes,  such  as  were  common  among  the 
slaves,  "  put  these  on." 

In  Tom's  hurried  exchange,  he  had  not  forgotten 
to  transfer  his  cherished  Bible  to  his  pocket.  It 
was  well  he  did  so ;  for  Mr.  Legree,  having  refitted 
Tom's  handcuffs,  proceeded  deliberately  to  investi- 
gate the  contents  of  his  pockets.  He  drew  out  a. 
silk  handkerchief,  and  put  it  into  his  own  pocket.. 
Several  little  trifles,  which  Tom  had  treasured,, 
chiefly  because  they  had  amused  Eva,  he  looked 
upon  with  a  contemptuous  grunt,  and  tossed  them 
over  his  shoulder  into  the  river. 

Tom's  Methodist  hymn-book,  which,  in  his 
hurry,  he  had  forgotten,  he  now  held  up  and  turned 
over. 

"  Humph  !  pious,  to  be  sure.  So,  what  's  yer 
name, — you  belong  to  the  church,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  firmly. 

"  Well,  I  '11  soon  have  that  out  of  you.  I  have 
none  o'  yer  bawling,  praying,  singing  niggers  on  my 
place  ;  so  remember.  Now,  mind  yourself,"  he  said, 
with  a  stamp  and  a  fierce  glance  of  his  gray  eye, 
directed  at  Tom,  "I'm  your  church  now  !  You  un- 
derstand,— you  've  got  to  be  as  /"say." 

Something  within  the  silent  black  man  answered 
No  !  and,  as  if  repeated  by  an  invisible  voice,  came 
the   words   of  an   old   prophetic   scroll,  as  Eva  had 


480  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

often  read  them  to  him, — "  Fear  not !  for  I  have 
redeemed  thee.  I  have  called  thee  by  my  name. 
Thou  art  mine  !  " 

But  Simon  Legree  heard  no  voice.  That  voice  is 
one  he  never  shall  hear.  He  only  glared  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  downcast  face  of  Tom,  and  walked  off. 
He  took  Tom's  trunk,  which  contained  a  very  neat 
and  abundant  wardrobe,  to  the  forecastle,  where  it 
was  soon  surrounded  by  various  hands  of  the  boat. 
With  much  laughing,  at  the  expense  of  niggers  who 
tried  to  be  gentlemen,  the  articles  very  readily  were 
sold  to  one  another,  and  the  empty  trunk  finally  put 
up  at  auction.  It  was  a  good  joke,  they  all  thought, 
especially  to  see  how  Tom  looked  after  his  things, 
as  they  were  going  this  way  and  that ;  and  then  the 
auction  of  the  trunk,  that  was  funnier  than  all,  and 
occasioned  abundant  witticisms. 

This  little  affair  being  over,  Simon  sauntered  up 
again  to  his  property. 

"  Now,  Tom,  I  've  relieved  you  of  any  extra  bag- 
gage, you  see.  Take  mighty  good  care  of  them 
clothes.  It  '11  be  long  enough  'fore  you  get  more. 
I  go  in  for  making  niggers  careful ;  one  suit  has  to 
do  for  one  year,  on  my  place." 

Simon  next  walked  up  to  the  place  where  Emme- 
line  was  sitting,  chained  to  another  woman. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  said,  chucking  her  under  the 
chin,  "  keep  up  your  spirits." 

The  involuntary  look  of  horror,  fright  and  aver- 
sion, with  which  the  girl  regarded  him,  did  not 
escape  his  eye.     He  frowned  fiercely. 

"  None  o'  your  shines,  gal !  you  's  got  to  keep  a 
pleasant  face,  when  I  speak  to  ye, — d'  ye  hear  ? 
And  you,  >pu  old  yellow  poco  moonshine  !  "  he  said, 
^ivins:  a  shove  to  the  mulatto  woman  to  whom  Em- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  48 1 

meline  was  chained,  "  don't  you  carry  that  sort  of 
face  !     You  's  got  to  look  chipper,  I  tell  ye  !  " 

**  I  say,  all  on  ye,"  he  said,  retreating  a  pace  or 
two  back,  V  look  at  me, — look  at  me, — look  me  right 
in  the  eye, — straight,  now  !  "  said  he,  stamping  his 
foot  at  every  pause. 

As  by  a  fascination,  every  eye  was  now  directed 
to  the  glaring  greenish-gray  eye  of  Simon. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  doubling  his  great,  heavy  fist 
Into  something  resembling  a  blacksmith's  hammer, 
"  d'  ye  see  this  fist  ?  Heft  it  !  "  he  said,  bringing  it 
<iown  on  Tom's  hand.  "  Look  at  these  yer  bones  ! 
Well,  I  tell  ye  this  yer  fist  has  got  as  hard  as  iron 
knocking  down  niggers.  I  never  see  the  nigger,  yet, 
I  could  n'  t  bring  down  with  one  crack,"  said  he, 
bringing  his  fist  down  so  near  to  the  face  of  Tom 
that  he  winked  and  drew  back.  "  I  don  't  keep 
none  o'  yer  cussed  overseers ;  I  does  my  own  over- 
seeing ;  and  I  tell  you  things  is  seen  to.  You 's  every 
one  on  ye  got  to  toe  the  mark,  I  tell  ye  ;  quick, — 
straight, — the  moment  I  speak.  That 's  the  way  to 
keep  in  with  me.  Ye  won't  find  no  soft  spot  in  me, 
nowhere.  So,  now,  mind  yerselves ;  for  I  don't 
show  no  mercy  !  " 

The  women  involuntarily  drew  in  their  breathy  and 
the  whole  gang  sat  with  downcast,  dejected  faces. 
Meanwhile,  Simon  turned  on  his  heel,  and  marched 
up  to  the  bar  of  the  boat  for  a  dram. 

"  That 's  the  way  I  begin  with  my  niggers,"  he 
said,  to  a  gentlemanly  man,  who  had  stood  by  him 
during  his  speech.  "  It 's  my  system  to  begin 
strong, — just  let  'em  know  what  to  expect." 

"Indeed  !  "  said  the  stranger,  looking  upon  him 
with  the  curiosity  of  a  naturalist  studying  some  out- 
of-the-way  specimen. 


482  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  'm  none  o'  yer  gentlemen 
planters,  with  lily  fingers,  to  slop  round  and  be 
cheated  by  some  old  cuss  of  an  overseer  !  Just  feel 
of  my  knuckles,  now  ;  look  at  my  fist.  Tell  ye, 
sir,  the  flesh  on  't  has  come  jest  like  a  stone,  practis- 
ing on  niggers, — feel  on  it." 

The  stranger  applied  his  fingers  to  the  implement 
in  question,  and  simply  said, 

"  'T  is  hard  enough  ;  and,  I  suppose,"  he  added, 
"  practice  has  made  your  heart  just  like  it." 

"  Why,  yes,  I  may  say  so,"  said  Simon,  with  a 
hearty  laugh,  f  I  reckon  there  's  as  little  soft  in  me 
as  in  any  one  going.  Tell  you,  nobody  comes  it 
over  me  !  Niggers  never  gets  round  me,  neither 
with  squalling  nor  soft  soap, — that 's  a  fact." 

"  You  have  a  fine  lot  there." 

"  Real,"  said  Simon.  "  There  's  that  Tom,  they 
telled  me  he  was  suthin'  uncommon.  I  paid  a  little 
high  for  him,  tendin'  him  for  a  driver  and  a  manag- 
ing chap  ;  only  get  the  notions  out  that  he  's  larnt 
by  bein'  treated  as  niggers  never  ought  to  be,  he  '11 
do  prime  !  The  yellow  woman  I  got  took  in  in.  I 
rayther  think  she 's  sickly,  but  I  shall  put  her 
through  for  what  she  's  worth  ;  she  may  last  a  year 
or  two.  I  don't  go  for  savin'  niggers.  Use  up, 
and  buy  more,  's  my  way  ; — makes  you  less  trouble, 
and  I  'm  quite  sure  it  comes  cheaper  in  the  end  •  " 
and  Simon  sipped  his  glass. 

"  And  how  long  do  they  generally  last  ?  "  said 
the  stranger. 

"  Well,  donno ;  'cordin'  as  their  constitution  is. 
Stout  fellers  last  six  or  seven  years  ;  trashy  ones  gets 
worked  up  in  two  or  three.  I  used  to,  when  I  fust 
begun,  have  considerable  trouble  fussin'  with  'em 
and  trying  to  make  'em  hold  out, — doctorin'  on  'em 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  483 

up  when  they  's  sick,  and  givin'  on  'em  clothes  and 
blankets,  and  what  not,  tryin'  to  keep  'em  all  sort 
o'  decent  and  comfortable.  Law,  't  was  n't  no  sort 
o'  use  ;  I  lost  money  on  'em,  and  't  was  heaps  o' 
trouble.  Now,  you  see,  I  just  put  'em  straight 
through,  sick  or  well.  When  one  nigger  's  dead,  I 
buy  another ;  and  I  find  it  comes  cheaper  and 
easier,  every  way." 

The  stranger  turned  away,  and  seated  himself 
beside  a  gentleman,  who  had  been  listening  to  the 
conversation  with  repressed  uneasiness. 

"  You  must  not  take  that  fellow  to  be  any  speci- 
men of  Southern  planters,"  said  he. 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  said  the  young  gentleman,, 
■with  emphasis. 

"  He  is  a  mean,  low,  brutal  fellow  !  "  said  the 
other. 

"  And  yet  your  laws  allow  him  to  hold  any  number 
of  human  beings  subject  to  his  absolute  will,  with- 
out even  a  shadow  of  protection ;  and,  low  as  he  isr 
you  cannot  say  that  there  are  not  many  such." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "  there  are  also  many 
considerate  and  humane  men  among  planters." 

"  Granted,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  but,  in  ray- 
opinion,  it  is  you  considerate,  humane  men,  that  are 
responsible  for  all  the  brutality  and  outrage  wrought 
by  these  wretches  ;  because,  if  it  were  not  for  your 
sanction  and  influence,  the  whole  system  could  not 
keep  foot-hold  for  an  hour.  If  there  were  no 
planters  except  such  as  that  one,"  said  he,  pointing 
with  his  finger  to  Legree,  who  stood  with  his  back 
to  them,  "  the  whole  thing  would  go  down  like  a. 
mill-stone.  It  is  your  respectability  and  humanity 
that  licenses  and  protects  his  brutality." 

"You  certainly  have  a  high  opinion   of  my  good 


484  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

nature,"  said  the  planter,  smiling;  "but  I  advise 
you  not  to  talk  quite  so  loud,  as  there  are  people  on 
board  the  boat  who  might  not  be  quite  so  tolerant 
to  opinion  as  I  am.  You  had  better  wait  till  I  get 
up  to  my  plantation,  and  there  you  may  abuse  us 
all,  quite  at  your  leisure." 

The  young  gentleman  colored  and  smiled,  and 
the  two  were  soon  busy  in  a  game  of  backgammon. 
Meanwhile,  another  conversation  was  going  on  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  boat,  between  Emmeline  and 
the  mulatto  woman  with  whom  she  was  confined. 
As  was  natural,  they  were  exchanging  with  each 
other  some  particulars  of  their  history. 

"  Who  did  you  belong  to  ?  "  said  Emmeline. 

"  Well,  my  Mas'r  was  Mr.  Ellis, — lived  on  Levee- 
street.     P'raps  you  've  seen  the  house." 

"  Was  he  good  to  you  ?  "  said  Emmeline. 

"  Mostly,  till  he  tuk  sick.  He 's  lain  sick,  off  and 
on,  more  than  six  months,  and  been  orful  oneasy. 
'Pears  like  he  warnt  willin'  to  have  nobody  rest, 
day  nor  night;  and  got  so  curous,  there  couldn't 
nobody  suit  him.  'Pears  like  he  just  grew  crosser, 
every  day  ;  kep  me  up  nights  till  I  got  farly  beat 
out,  and  could  n't  keep  awake  no  longer ;  and  cause 
I  got  to  sleep,  one  night,  Lors,  he  talk  so  orful  to 
me,  and  he  tell  me  he  'd  sell  me  to  just  the  hardest 
master  he  could  find  ;  and  he  'd  promised  me  my 
freedom,  too,  when  he  died." 

"  Had  you  any  friends  ?  "  said  Emmeline. 

"  Yes,  my  husband, — he  's  a  blacksmith.  Mas'r 
gen'ly  hired  him  out.  They  took  me  off  so  quick, 
I  did  n't  even  have  time  to  see  him  ;  and  I 's  got 
four  children.  O,  dear  me  !  "  said  the  woman, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

It  is  a  natural  impulse,  in  every  one,  when  they 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  485 

hear  a  tale  of  distress,  to  think  of  something  to  say 
by  way  of  consolation.  Emmeline  wanted  to  say 
something,  but  she  could  not  think  of  anything  to 
say.  What  was  there  to  be  said  ?  As  by  a  common 
consent,  they  both  avoided,  with  fear  and  dread,  all 
mention  of  the  horrible  man  who  was  now  their 
master. 

True,  there  is  religious  trust  for  even  the  darkest 
hour.  The  mulatto  woman  was  a  member  of  the 
Methodist  church,  and  had  an  unenlightened  but 
very  sincere  spirit  of  piety.  Emmeline  had  been 
educated  much  more  intelligently, — taught  to  read 
and  write,  and  diligently  instructed  in  the  Bible,  by 
the  care  of  a  faithful  and  pious  mistress  ;  yet,  would 
it  not  try  the  faith  of  the  firmest  Christian,  to  find 
themselves  abandoned,  apparently,  of  God,  in  the 
grasp  of  ruthless  violence  ?  How  much  more  must 
it  shake  the  faith  of  Christ's  poor  little  ones,  weak 
in  knowledge  and  tender  in  years ! 

The  boat  moved  on, — freighted  with  its  weight  of 
sorrow, — up  the  red,  muddy,  turbid  current,  through 
the  abrupt,  tortuous  windings  of  the  Red  river ;  and 
sad  eyes  gazed  wearily  on  the  steep  red-clay  banks, 
as  they  glided  by  in  dreary  sameness.  At  last  the 
boat  stopped  at  a  small  town,  and  Legree,  with  his 
party,  disembarked. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

DARK    PLACES. 
"  The  dark  places  of  the  earth  are  full  of  the  habitations  of  cruelty." 

Trailing  wearily  behind  a  rude  wagon,  and  over 
a  ruder  road,  Tom  and  his  associates  faced  onward. 

In  the  wagon  was  seated  Simon  Legree  ;  and  the 
two  women,   still    fettered    together,    were    stowed 


486  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

away  with  some  baggage  in  the  back  part  of  it,  and 
the  whole  company  were  seeking  Legree's  plantar 
tion,  which  lay  a  good  distance  off. 

It  was  a  wild,  forsaken  road,  now  winding  through 
dreary  pine  barrens,  where  the  wind  whispered 
mournfully,  and  now  over  log  causeways,  through 
long  cypress  swamps,  the  doleful  trees  rising  out  of 
the  slimy,  spongy  ground,  hung  with  long  wreaths  of 
funereal  black  moss,  while  ever  and  anon  the  loath- 
some form  of  the  moccasin  snake  might  be  seen 
sliding  among  broken  stumps  and  shattered  branches 
that  lay  here  and  there,  rotting  in  the  water. 

It  is  disconsolate  enough,  this  riding,  to  the 
stranger,  who,  with  well-filled  pocket  and  well-ap- 
pointed horse,  threads  the  lonely  way  on  some  errand 
of  business  ;  but  wilder,  drearier,  to  the  man  en- 
thralled whom  every  weary  step  bears  further  from 
all  that  man  loves  and  prays  for. 

So  one  should  have  thought,  that  witnessed  the 
sunken  and  dejected  expression  on  those  dark  faces  ; 
the  wistful,  patient  weariness  with  which  those  sad 
eyes  rested  on  object  after  object  that  passed  them 
in  their  sad  journey. 

Simon  rode  on,  however,  apparently  well  pleased, 
occasionally  pulling  away  at  a  flask  of  spirit,  which 
he  kept  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  say,  you/"  he  said,  as  he  turned  back  and 
caught  a  glance  at  the  dispirited  faces  behind  him  ! 
*'  Strike  up  a  song,  boys, — come  !  " 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  "  come  " 
was  repeated,  with  a  smart  crack  of  the  whip  which 
the  driver  carried  in  his  hands.  Tom  began  a  Meth- 
odist hymn, 

"  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 
Name  ever  dear  to  me  ! 
When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end, 
Thy  joys  when  shall — " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  4S7 

"  Shut  up,  you  black  cuss  !  "  roared  Legree  ;  "  did 
ye  think  I  wanted  any  o'  yer  infernal  old  Methodism  ? 
I  say,  tune  up,  now,  something  real  rowdy, — quick  !  " 

One  of  the  other  men  struck  up  one  of  those  un- 
meaning songs,  common  among  the  slaves. 

"  Mas'r  see'd  me  cotch  a  coon, 

High  boys,  high ! 
He  laughed  to  split, — d'  ye  see  the  moan, 

Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  boys,  ho  ! 
Ho  !  yo  !  hi  — e !  oh  !  " 

The  singer  appeared  to  make  up  the  song  to  his 
own  pleasure,  generally  hitting  on  rhyme,  without 
much  attempt  at  reason  ;  and  all  the  party  took  up 
the  chorus,  at  intervals, 

",  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  boys,  ho  ! 
High— e— oh  »  high— e— oh !  " 

It  was  sung  very  boisterously,  and  with  a  forced 
attempt  at  merriment ,  but  no  wail  of  despair,  no 
words  of  impassioned  prayer,  could  have  had  such 
a  depth  of  woe  in  them  as  the  wild  notes  of  the 
chorus.  As  if  the  poor,  dumb  heart,  threatened, — 
prisoned, — took  refuge  in  that  inarticulate  sanctuary 
of  music,  and  found  there  a  language  in  which  to 
breathe  its  prayer  to  God  !  There  was  a  prayer  in  it, 
which  Simon  could  not  hear.  He  only  heard  the 
boys  singing  noisily,  and  was  well  pleased  ;  he  was 
making  them  "  keep  up  their  spirits." 

"  Well,  my  little  dear,"  said  he,  turning  to  Emme- 
line,  and  laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  "  we  Jre 
almost  home  !  " 

When  Legree  scolded  and  stormed,  Emmeline  was 
terrified  ;  but  when  he  laid  his  hand  on  her,  and 
spoke  as  he  new  did,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  rather  he 
would  strike  her.  The  expression  of  his  eyes  made 
her  soul  sick,  and  her  flesh  creep.     Involuntarily  she 


488  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

clung  closer  to  the  mulatto  woman  by  her  side,  as  if 
she  were  her  mother. 

"  You  did  n't  ever  wear  ear-rings,"  he  said,  taking 
hold  of  her  small  ear  with  his  coarse  fingers. 

"  No,  Mas'r ! "  said  Emmeline,  trembling  and 
looking  down. 

"  Well,  I  '11  give  you  a  pair,  when  we  get  home, 
if  you  're  a  good  girl.  You  need  n't  be  so 'fright- 
ened :  I  don't  mean  to  make  you  work  very  hard~ 
You  '11  have  fine  times  with  me,  and  live  like  a  lady, 
— only  be  a  good  girl." 

Legree  had  been  drinking  to  that  degree  that  he 
was  inclined  to  be  very  gracious  ;  and  it  was  about 
this  time  that  the  enclosures  of  the  plantation  rose 
to  view.  The  estate  had  formerly  belonged  to  a 
gentleman  of  opulence  and  taste,  who  had  bestowed 
some  considerable  attention  to  the  adornment  of 
his  grounds.  Having  died  insolvent,  it  had  been 
purchased,  at  a  bargain,  by  Legree,  who  used  it,  as 
he  did  everything  else,  merely  as  an  implement  for 
money-making.  The  place  had  that  ragged,  forlorn 
appearance,  which  is  always  produced  by  the  evi- 
dence that  the  care  of  the  former  owner  has  been 
left  to  go  to  utter  decay. 

What  was  once  a  smooth-shaven  lawn  before  the 
house,  dotted  here  and  there  with  ornamental  shrubs, 
was  now  covered  with  frowsy  tangled  grass,  with 
horse-posts  set  up,  here  and  there,  in  it,  where  the 
turf  was  stamped  away,  and  the  ground  littered  with 
broken  pails,  cobs  of  corn,  and  other  slovenly  re- 
mains. Here  and  there,  a  mildewed  jessamine  or 
honeysuckle  hung  raggedly  from  some  ornamental 
support,  which  had  been  pushed  to  one  side  by 
being  used  as  a  horse-post.  What  once  was  a  large 
garden  was  now  all  grown  over  with  weeds,  through 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  489 

which,  here  and  there,  some  solitary  exotic  reared 
its  forsaken  head.  What  had  been  a  conservatory 
had  now  no  window-sashes,  and  on  the  mouldering: 
shelves  stood  some  dry,  forsaken  flower-pots,  with 
sticks  in  them,  whose  dried  leaves  showed  they  had 
once  been  plants. 

The  wagon  rolled  up  a  weedy  gravel  walk,  under 
a  noble  avenue  of  China  trees,  whose  graceful  forms 
and  ever-springing  foliage  seemed  to  be  the  only 
things  there  that  neglect  could  not  daunt  or  alter, — 
like  noble  spirits,  so  deeply  rooted  in  goodness,  as 
to  flourish  and  grow  stronger  amid  discouragement, 
and  decay. 

The  house  had  been  large  and  handsome.  It 
was  built  in  a  manner  common  at  the  South  ;  a  wide 
verandah  of  two  stories  running  round  every  part 
of  the  house,  into  which  every  outer  door  opened, 
the  lower  tier  being  supported  by  brick  pillars. 

But  the  place  looked  desolate  and  uncomfortable  ; 
some  windows  stopped  up  with  boards,  some  with 
shattered  panes,  and  shutters  hanging  by  a  single 
hinge, — all  telling  of  coarse  neglect  and  discomfort. 

Bits  of  board,  straw,  old  decayed  barrels  and 
boxes,  garnished  the  ground  in  all  directions ;  and 
three  or  four  ferocious-looking  dogs,  roused  by  the 
sound  of  the  wagon-wheels,  came  tearing  out,  and 
were  with  difficulty  restrained  from  laying  hold  of 
Tom  and  his  companions,  by  the  effort  of  the  ragged, 
servants  who  came  after  them.  "  Ye  see  what  ye  'd 
get !  "  said  Legree,  caressing  the  dogs  with  grim 
satisfaction,  and  turning  to  Tom  and  his  compan- 
ions. "  Ye  see  what  ye  'd  get,  if  ye  try  to  run  off. 
These  yer  dogs  has  been  raised  to  track  niggers  ; 
and  they  'd  jest  as  soon  chaw  one  on  ye  up  as  eat: 
their  supper.     So,  mind  yerself !     How  now,  Sam- 


490  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

do  !  "  he  said,  to  a  ragged  fellow,  without  any  brim 
to  his  hat,  who  was  officious  in  his  attentions. 
*'  How  have  things  been  going? J' 

"Fust  rate,  Mas'r." 

ft  Quimbo,"  said  Legree  to  another,  who  was  mak- 
ing zealous  demonstrations  to  attract  his  attention, 
"ye  minded  what  I  telled  ye  ?  " 

«  Guess  I  did,  did  n't  I  ?  " 

These  two  colored  men  were  the  two  principal 
hands  on  the  plantation.  Legree  had  trained  them 
an  savageness  and  brutality  as  systematically  as  he 
had  his  bull-dogs  ;  and,  by  long  practice  in  hardness 
and  cruelty,  brought  their  whole  nature  to  about  the 
same  range  of  capacities.  It  is  a  common  remark, 
and  one  that  is  thought  to  militate  strongly  against 
the  character  of  the  race,  that  the  negro  overseer  is 
always  more  tyrannical  and  cruel  than  the  white  one. 
This  is  simply  saying  that  the  negro  mind  has  been 
more  crushed  and  debased  than  the  white.  It  is  no 
more  true  of  this  race  than  of  every  oppressed  race, 
the  world  over.  The  slave  is  always  a  tyrant,  if  he 
can  get  a  chance  to  be  one. 

Legree,  like  some  potentates  we  read  of  in  his- 
tory, governed  his  plantation  by  a  sort  of  resolution 
of  forces.  Sambo  and  Quimbo  cordially  hated 
each  other ;  the  plantation  hands,  one  and  all, 
cordially  hated  them ;  and,  by  playing  off  one 
against  another,  he  was  pretty  sure,  through  one  or 
the  other  of  the  three  parties,  to  get  informed  of 
whatever  was  on  foot  in  the  place. 

Nobody  can  live  entirely  without  social  inter- 
course ;  and  Legree  encouraged  his  two  black  satel- 
lites to  a  kind  of  coarse  familiarity  with  him, — a 
familiarity,  however,  at  any  moment  liable  to  get 
one   or  the  other  of  them  into  trouble  ;  fcr,  on  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  49 1 

slightest  provocation,  one  of  them  always  stood 
ready,  at  a  nod,  to  be  a  minister  of  his  vengeance 
on  the  other. 

As  they  stood  there  now  by  Legree,  they  seemed 
an  apt  illustration  of  the  fact  that  brutal  men  are 
lower  even  than  animals.  Their  coarse,  dark,  heavy 
features  ;  their  great  eyes,  rolling  enviously  on  each 
other  ;  their  barbarous,  guttural,  half-brute  intona- 
tion ;  their  dilapidated  garments  fluttering  in  the 
wind, — were  all  in  admirable  keeping  with  the  vile 
and  unwholesome  character  of  everything  about  the 
place. 

"  Here,  you  Sambo,"  said  Legree,  "  take  these 
yer  boys  down  to  the  quarters  ;  and  here  's  a  gal  I  've 
got  for  you,"  said  he,  as  he  separated  the  mu- 
latto woman  from  Emmeline,  and  pushed  her  towards 
him ; — "  I  promised  to  bring  you  one,  you  know." 

The  woman  gave  a  sudden  start,  and,  drawing 
back,  said  suddenly. 

"  O,  Mas'r  !  I  left  my  old  man  in  New  Orleans." 

"  What  of  that,    you ;  won't  you  want  one 

liere  ?  None  o'  your  words, — go  long  ! "  said  Legree, 
raising  his  whip. 

"  Come,  mistress,"  he  said  to  Emmeline,  "  you  go 
in  here  with  me." 

A  dark,  wild  face  was  seen,  for  a  moment,  to 
glance  at  the  window  of  the  house  ;  and,  as  Legree 
opened  the  door,  a  female  voice  said  something,  in 
a  quick,  imperative  tone.  Tom,  who  was  looking, 
Tvith  anxious  interest,  after  Emmeline,  as  she  went 
in,  noticed  this,  and  heard  Legree  answer,  angrily, 
"  You  may  hold  your  tongue  !  I  '11  do  as  I  please, 
for  all  you  !  " 

Tom  heard  no  more ;  for  he  was  soon  following 
Sambo  to  the  quarters.  The  quarters  was  a  little 
33 


492  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

sort  of  street  of  rude  shanties,  in  a  row,  in  a  part  of 
the  plantation,  far  off  from  the  house.  They  had  a. 
forlorn,  brutal,  forsaken  air.  Tom's  heart  sunk 
when  he  saw  them.  He  had  been  comforting  him- 
self with  the  thought  of  a  cottage,  rude,  indeed,  but 
one  which  he  might  make  neat  and  quiet,  and  where 
he  might  have  a  shelf  for  his  Bible,  and  a  place  to- 
be  alone  out  of  his  laboring  hours.  He  looked  into- 
several ;  they  were  mere  rude  shells,  destitute  of 
any  species  of  furniture,  except  aheap  of  straw,  foul 
with  dirt,  spread  confusedly  over  the  floor,  which 
was  merely  the  bare  ground,  trodden  hard  by  the 
tramping  of  innumerable  feet. 

"  Which  of  these  will  be  mine  ?  "  said  he,  to* 
Sambo,  submissively. 

"  Dunno  ;  ken  turn  in  here,  I  spose,"  said  Sam- 
bo ;  "  spects  thar  's  room  for  another  thar  ;  thar  's> 
a  pretty  smart  heap  o'  niggers  to  each  on  'em,  now ; 
sure,  I  dunno  what  I  's  to  do  with  more." 

.it.  jt-  -Ifc  4fc  -ifc  Jfc  Jfc 

X       ,f  if        /  J        W  TV"  7T  TV"  "7T 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  weary  occu- 
pants of  the  shanties  came  flocking  home,— men  and 
women,  in  soiled  and  tattered  garments,  surly  and 
uncomfortable,  and  in  no  mood  to  look  pleasantly 
on  new-comers.  The  small  village  was  alive  with 
no  inviting  sounds ;  hoarse,  guttural  voices  con- 
tending at  the  hand-milk  where  their  morsel  of  hard 
corn  was  yet  to  be  ground  into  meal,  to  fit  it  for  the 
cake  that  was  to  constitute  their  only  supper.  From 
the  earliest  dawn  of  the  day,  they  had  been  in  the 
fields,  pressed  to  work  under  the  driving  lash  of  the 
overseers  ;  for  it  was  now  in  the  very  heat  and 
hurry  of  the  season,  and  no  means  was  left  untried 
to  press  every  one  up  to  the  top  of  their  capabili- 
ties.    "True,"  says  the  negligent  lounger -T  "pick- 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  493 

ing  cotton  is  n't  hard  work."  Is  n't  it?  And  it  is  n't 
much  inconvenience,  either,  to  have  one  drop  of 
water  fall  on  your  head  ;  yet  the  worst  torture  of  the 
inquisition  is  produced  by  drop  after  drop,  drop 
after  drop,  falling  moment  after  moment,  with  mono- 
tonous succession,  on  the  same  spot ;  and  work,  in 
itself  not  hard,  becomes  so,  by  being  pressed,  hour 
after  hour,  with  unvarying,  unrelenting  sameness, 
with  not  even  the  consciousness  of  free-will  to  take 
from  its  tediousness.  Tom  looked  in  vain  among 
the  gang,  as  they  poured  along,  for  companionable 
faces.  He  saw  only  sullen,  scowling,  imbruted  men, 
and  feeble,  discouraged  women,  or  women  that  were 
not  women, — the  strong  pushing  away  the  weak, — 
the  gross,  unrestricted  animal  selfishness  of  human 
beings,  of  whom  nothing  good  was  expected  and 
desired  ;  and  who,  treated  in  every  way  like  brutes, 
had  sunk  as  nearly  to  their  level  as  it  was  possible 
for  human  beings  to  do.  To  a  late  hour  in  the  night 
the  sound  of  the  grinding  was  protracted ;  for  the 
mills  were  few  in  number  compared  with  the  grind- 
ers, and  the  weary  and  feeble  ones  were  driven 
back  by  the  strong,  and  came  on  last  in  their 
turn. 

"  Ho  yo  !  "  said  Sambo,  coming  to  the  mulatto- 
woman,  and  throwing  down  a  bag  of  corn  before 
her  ;  "  what  a  cuss  yo  name  ?  " 

"  Lucy,"  said  the  woman. 

"  Wal,  Lucy,  yo  my  woman  now.  Yo  grind  dis- 
yer  corn,  and  get  my  supper  baked,  ye  har  ?  " 

"  I  an't  your  woman,  and  I  won't  be  !  "  said  the 
woman,  with  the  sharp,  sudden  courage  of  despair  ;. 
"  you  go  long  !  " 

"  I  '11  kick  yo,  then  !  "  said  Sambo,  raising  his 
foot  threateningly. 


494  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Ye  may  kill  me,  if  ye  choose, — the  sooner  the 
better !     Wish't  I  was  dead  !  "  said  she. 

"  I  say,  Sambo,  you  go  to  spilin'  the  hands,  I  '11 
tell  Mas'r  o'  you,"  said  Quimbo,  who  was  busy  at 
the  mill,  from  which  he  had  viciously  driven  two  or 
three  tired  women,  who  were  waiting  to  grind  their 
corn. 

"  And  I  '11  tell  him  ye  won't  let  the  women  come 
to  the  mills,  yo  old  nigger  !  "  said  Sambo.  "  Yo  jes 
keep  to  yo  own  row." 

Tom  was  hungry  with  his  day's  journey,  and 
almost  faint  for  want  of  food. 

"  Thar,  yo  ! "  said  Quimbo,  throwing  down  a 
coarse  bag,  which  contained  a  peck  of  corn  ;  "  thar, 
nigger,  grab,  take  car  on  't, — yo  won't  get  no  more, 
dis  yer  week." 

Tom  waited  till  a  late  hour,  to  get  a  place  at  the 
mills  ;  and  then,  moved  by  the  utter  weariness  of 
two  women,  whom  he  saw  trying  to  grind  their  corn 
there,  he  ground  for  them,  put  together  the  decay- 
ing brands  of  the  fire,  where  many  had  baked  cakes 
before  them,  and  then  went  about  getting  his  own 
supper.  It  was  a  new  kind  of  work  there, — a  deed 
of  charity,  small  as  it  was ;  but  it  woke  an  answer- 
ing touch  in  their  hearts, — an  expression  of  womanly 
kindness  came  over  their  hard  faces  ;  they  mixed 
his  cake  for  him,  and  tended  its  baking ;  and  Tom 
sat  down  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  drew  out  his 
Bible, — for  he  had  need  of  comfort. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  one  of  the  women. 

"  A  Bible,"  said  Tom. 

"  Good  Lord !  han't  seen  un  since  I  was  in 
Kentuck." 

"  Was  you  raised  in  Kentuck  ?  "  said  Tom,  with 
interest. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  495 

"  Yes,  and  well  raised,  too  ;  never  'spected  to  come 
to  dis  yer  !  "  said  the  woman,  sighing. 

"  What 's  dat  ar  book,  any  way  ?  "  said  the  other 
woman. 

"  Why,  the  Bible." 

"  Laws  a  me  !  what 's  dat  ?  "  said  the  woman. 

"  Do  tell !  you  never  hearn  on  't  ?  "  said  the  other 
woman.  "  I  used  to  har  Missis  a  readin'  on 't, 
sometimes,  in  Kentuck ;  but,  laws  o'  me !  we  don't 
har  nothin'  here  but  crackin'  and  swarin'." 

"  Read  a  piece,  anyways  !  "  said  the  first  woman, 
curiously,  seeing  Tom  attentively  poring  over  it. 

Tom  read, — "  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labor 
and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

"  Them  's  good  words,  enough,"  said  the  woman ; 
"  who  says  'em  ?  " 

(i  The  Lord,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  jest  wish  I  know'd  whar  to  find  Him,"  said 
the  woman.  "I  would  go;  'pears  like  I  never 
should  get  rested  agin.  My  flesh  is  fairly  sore,  and 
I  tremble  all  over,  every  day,  and  Sambo  's  allers  a 
jawin'  at  me,  'cause  I  does  n't  pick  faster ;  and 
nights  it 's  most  midnight  'fore  I  can  get  my  supper  ; 
and  den  'pears  like  I  don't  turn  over  and  shut  my 
eyes,  'fore  I  hear  de  horn  blow  to  get  up,  and  at  it 
agin  in  de  mornin'.  If  I  knew  whar  de  Lor  was, 
I  'd  tell  him." 

"  He  's  here,  he  's  everywhere,"  said  Tom. 

"  Lor,  you  an't  gwine  to  make  me  believe  dat  ar ! 
I  know  de  Lord  an  't  here,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  't  an't 
no  use  talking,  though.  I  's  jest  gwine  to  camp 
down,  and  sleep  while  I  ken." 

The  women  went  off  to  their  cabins,  and  Tom  sat 
alone,  by  the  smouldering  fire,  that  flickered  up 
redly  in  his  face. 


496  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

The  silver,  fair-browed  moon  rose  in  the  purple 
sky,  and  looked  down,  calm  and  silent,  as  God  looks 
on  the  scene  of  misery  and  oppression, — looked 
calmly  on  the  lone  black  man,  as  he  sat,  with  his 
arms  folded,  and  his  Bible  on  his  knee. 

"  Is  God  here  ?  "  Ah,  how  is  it  possible  for  the 
untaught  heart  to  keep  its  faith,  unswerving,  in  the 
face  of  dire  misrule,  and  palpable,  unrebuked  injus- 
tice ?  In  that  simple  heart  waged  a  fierce  conflict : 
the  crushing  sense  of  wrong,  the  foreshadowing  of 
a  whole  life  of  future  misery,  the  wreck  of  all  past 
hopes,  mournfully  tossing  in  the  soul's  sight,  like 
dead  corpses  of  wife,  and  child,  and  friend,  rising 
from  the  dark  wave,  and  surging  in  the  face  of  the 
half-drowned  mariner  !  Ah,  was  it  easy  here  to  be- 
lieve and  hold  fast  the  great  pass-word  of  Christian 
faith,  that  "  God  is,  and  is  the  rewarder  of  them 
that  diligently  seek  Him  "  ? 

Tom  rose,  disconsolate,  and  stumbled  into  the 
cabin  that  had  been  allotted  to  him.  The  floor  was 
already  strewn  with  weary  sleepers,  and  the  foul  air 
of  the  place  almost  repelled  him ;  but  the  heavy 
night-dewTs  were  chill,  and  his  limbs  weary,  and: 
wrapping  about  him  a  tattered  blanket  which 
formed  his  only  bed-clothing,  he  stretched  himself 
in  the  straw  and  fell  asleep. 

In  dreams,  a  gentle  voice  came  over  his  ear ;  he 
was  sitting  on  the  mossy  seat  in  the  garden  by  Lake 
Pontchartrain,  and  Eva,  with  her  serious  eyes  bent 
downward,  was  reading  to  him  from  the  Bible ;  and 
he  heard  her  read, 

"  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be 
with  thee,  and  the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflow 
thee  ;  when  thou  walkest  through  the  fire,  thou  shalt 
not  be  burned,  neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  497 

thee  ;  for  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God,  the  Holy  One  of 
Israel,  thy  Saviour." 

Gradually  the  words  seemed  to  melt  and  fade,  as 
in  a  divine  music ;  the  child  raised  her  deep  eyes, 
and  fixed  them  lovingly  on  him,  and  rays  of  warmth 
and  comfort  seemed  to  go  from  them  to  his  heart ; 
and,  as  if  wafted  on  the  music,  she  seemed  to  rise 
on  shining  wings,  from  which  flakes  and  spangles  of 
gold  fell  off  like  stars,  and  she  was  gone. 

Tom  woke.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  Let  it  pass  for 
one.  But  who  shall  say  that  that  sweet  young  spirit, 
which  in  life  so  yearned  to  comfort  and  console  the 
•distressed,  was  forbidden  of  God  to  assume  this 
ministry  after  death  ? 

It  is  a  beautiful  belief, 

That  ever  round  our  head 
Are  hovering,  on  angel  wings, 

The  spirits-of  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

GASSY. 

*'  And  behold,  the  tears  of  such  as  were  oppressed,  and  they  had  no  com- 
forter ;  and  on  the  side  of  their  oppressors  there  was  power,  but  they  had 
no  comforter." — Eccl.  4:1. 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  familiarize  Tom  with 
all  that  was  to  be  hoped  or  feared  in  his  new  way  of 
life.  He  was  an  expert  and  efficient  workman  in 
whatever  he  undertook  ;  and  was,  both  from  habit 
and  principle,  prompt  and  faithful.  Quiet  and 
peaceable  in  his  disposition,  he  hoped,  by  unremitt- 
ing diligence,  to  avert  from  himself  at  least  a  portion 
of  the  evils  of  his  condition.  He  saw  enough  of  abuse 
and  misery  to  make  him  sick  and  weary  ;  but  he  de- 
termined to  toil  on,  with  religious  patience,  commit- 
ting himself  to   Him  that  judgeth  righteously,  not 


498  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

without  hope  that  some  way  of  escape  might  yet  be 
opened  to  him. 

Legree  took  silent  note  of  Tom's  availability.  He 
rated  him  as  a  first-class  hand  ;  and  yet  he  felt  a 
secret  dislike  to  him, — the  native  antipathy  of  bad 
to  good.  He  saw,  plainly,  that  when,  as  was  often 
the  case,  his  violence  and  brutality  fell  on  the  help- 
less, Tom  -took  notice  of  it  ;  for,  so  subtle  is  the 
atmosphere  of  opinion  that  it  will  make  itself  felt, 
without  words  ;  and  the  opinion  even  of  a  slave  may 
annoy  a  master.  Tom  in  various  ways  manifested 
a  tenderness  of  feeling,  a  commiseration  for  his  fel- 
low-sufferers, strange  and  new  to  them,  which  was 
watched  with  a  jealous  eye  by  Legree.  He  had  pur- 
chased Tom  with  a  view  of  eventually  making  him 
a  sort  of  overseer,  with  whom  he  might,  at  times,  in- 
trust his  affairs,  in  short  absences  ;  and,  in  his  view, 
the  first,  second,  and  third  requisite  for  that  place, 
was  hardness.  Legree  made  up  his  mind,  that,  as 
Tom  was  not  hard  to  his  hand,  he  would  harden  him 
forthwith  ;  and  some  few  weeks  after  Tom  had  been 
on  the  place,  he  determined  to  commence  the  pro- 
cess. 

One  morning,  when  the  hands  were  mustered  for 
the  field,  Tom  noticed,  with  surprise,  a  new  comer 
among  them,  whose  appearance  excited  his  atten- 
tion. It  was  a  woman,  tall  and  slenderly  formed, 
with  remarkably  delicate  hands  and  feet,  and  dressed 
in  neat  and  respectable  garments.  By  the  appear- 
ance of  her  face,  she  might  have  been  between 
thirty-five  and  forty;  and  it  was  a  face  that,  once 
seen,  could  never  be  forgotten, — one  of  those  that,, 
at  a  glance,  seem  to  convey  to  us  an  idea  of  a  wild, 
painful,  and  romantic  history.  Her  forehead  was 
high,  and  her  eyebrows  marked  with  beautiful. clear- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  499 

ness.  Her  straight,  well-formed  nose,  her  finely-cut 
mouth,  and  the  graceful  contour  of  her  head  and 
neck,  showed  that  she  must  once  have  been  beau- 
tiful ;  but  her  face  was  deeply  wrinkled  with  lines 
of  pain,  and  of  proud  and  bitter  endurance.  Her 
complexion  was  sallow  and  unhealthy,  her  cheeks 
thin,  her  features  sharp,  and  her  whole  form  emaci- 
ated. But  her  eye  was  the  most  remarkable  feature, 
— so  large,  so  heavily  black,  overshadowed  by  long- 
lashes  of  equal  darkness,  and  so  wildly,  mournfully 
despairing.  There  was  a  fierce  pride  and  defiance 
in  every  line  of  her  face,  in  every  curve  of  the  flex- 
ible lip,  in  every  motion  of  her  body  ;  but  in  her 
eye  was  a  deep,  settled  night  of  anguish, — an  ex- 
pression so  hopeless  and  unchanging  as  to  contrast 
fearfully  with  the  scorn  and  pride  expressed  by  her 
whole  demeanor. 

Where  she  came  from,  or  who  she  was,  Tom  did 
not  know.  The  first  he  did  know,  she  was  walking 
by  his  side,  erect  and  proud,  in  the  dim  gray  of  the 
dawn.  To  the  gang,  however,  she  was  known  ;  for 
there  was  much  looking  and  turning  of  heads,  and 
a  smothered  yet  apparent  exultation  among  the 
miserable,  ragged,  half-starved  creatures  by  whom 
she  was  surrounded. 

"  Got  to  come  to  it,  at  last, — glad  of  it  !  "  said  one 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  "  said  another  ;  "  you  '11  know  how 
good  it  is,  Misse  ! " 

"  We  '11  see  her  work  ! " 

"  Wonder  if  she  '11  get  a  cutting  up,  at  night,  like 
the  rest  of  us  !  " 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  see  her  down  for  a  flogging,  I  'II 
bound  !  "  said  another. 

The  woman  took  no  notice  of  these  taunts,  but 
walked  on,  with  the  same  expression  of  angry  scorn, 


500  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

as  if  she  heard  nothing.  Tom  had  always  lived 
among  refined  and  cultivated  people,  and  he  felt  in- 
tuitively, from  her  air  and  bearing,  that  she  belonged 
to  that  class ;  but  how  or  why  she  could  be  fallen 
to  those  degrading  circumstances,  he  could  not  tell. 
The  woman  neither  looked  at  him  nor  spoke  to  him, 
though,  all  the  way  to  the  field,  she  kept  close  at 
his  side. 

Tom  was  soon  busy  at  his  work ;  but,  as  the 
woman  was  at  no  great  distance  from  him,  he  often 
glanced  an  eye  to  her,  at  her  work.  He  saw,  at  a 
glance,  that  a  native  adroitness  and  handiness  made 
the  task  to  her  an  easier  one  than  it  proved  to  many. 
She  picked  very  fast  and  very  clean,  and  with  an 
air  of  scorn,  as  if  she  despised  both  the  work  and 
the  disgrace  and  humiliation  of  the  circumstances 
in  which  she  was  placed. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  Tom  was  working  near 
the  mulatto  woman  who  had  been  bought  in  the 
same  lot  with  himself.  She  was  evidently  in  a  con- 
dition of  great  suffering,  and  Tom  often  heard  her 
praying,  as  she  wavered  and  trembled,  and  seemed 
about  to  fall  down.  Tom  silently,  as  he  came  near 
to  her,  transferred  several  handfuls  of  cotton  from 
his  own  sack  to  hers. 

"  O,  don't,  don't !  "  said  the  woman,  looking  sur- 
prised ;  "  it'll  get  you  into  trouble." 

Just  then  Sambo  came  up.  He  seemed  to  have 
a  special  spite  against  this  woman  ;  and,  flourishing 
his  whip,  said,  in  brutal,  guttural  tones,  "  What  dis 
yer,  Luce, — foolin'  a'  ? "  and,  with  the  word,  kicking 
the  woman  with  his  heavy  cowhide  shoe,  he  struck 
Tom  across  the  face  with  his  whip. 

Tom  silently  resumed  his  task  ;  but  the  woman, 
before  at  the  last  point  of  exhaustion,  fainted. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  501 

"  I'll  bring  her  to  !  "  said  the  driver,  with  a  brutal 
grin.  "  I'll  give  her  something  better  than  cam- 
phire  !  "  and,  taking  a  pin  from  his  coat-sleeve,  he 
buried  it  to  the  head  in  her  flesh.  The  woman 
groaned,  and  half  rose.  "  Get  up,  you  beast,  and 
work,  will  yer,  or  I'll  show  yer  a  trick  more  !  " 

The  woman  seemed  stimulated,  for  a  few  moments, 
to  an  unnatural  strength,  and  worked  with  desperate 
eagerness. 

"  See  that  you  keep  to  dat  ar,"  said  the  man,  "  or 
ye  '11  wish  yer  's  dead  to-night,  I  reckin  !  " 

"  That  I  do  now  !  "  Tom  heard  her  say  ;  and  again 
he  heard  her  say,  "  O,  Lord,  how  long !  O,  Lord, 
why  don't  you  help  us  ?  " 

At  the  risk  of  all  that  he  might  suffer,  Tom  came 
forward  again,  and  put  all  the  cotton  in  his  sack 
into  the  woman's. 

"  O,  you  must  n't !  you  donno  what  they  '11  do  to 
ye  !  "  said  the  woman. 

"  I  can  bar  it !  "  said  Tom,  "  better  'n  you  ;  "  and 
he  was  at  his  place  again.     It  passed  in  a  moment. 

Suddenly,  the  stranger  woman  whom  we  have 
described,  and  who  had,  in  the  course  of  her  work, 
come  near  enough  to  hear  Tom's  last  words,  raised 
her  heavy  black  eyes,  and  fixed  them,  for  a  second, 
on  him  ;  then,  taking  a  quantity  of  cotton  from  her 
basket,  she  placed  it  in  his. 

"  You  know  nothing  about  this  place,"  she  said, 
-  or  you  would  n't  have  done  that.  When  you  've 
been  here  a  month,  you  '11  be  done  helping  anybody  ; 
you  '11  find  it  hard  enough  to  take  care  of  your  own 
skin!" 

"  The  Lord  forbid,  Missis  !  "  said  Tom,  using  in- 
stinctively to  his  field  companion  the  respectful  form 
proper  to  the  high  bred  with  whom  he  had  lived. 


502  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :  OR, 

"  The  Lord  never  visits  these  parts,"  said  the 
woman,  bitterly,  as  she  went  nimbly  forward  with 
her  work  ;  and  again  the  scornful  smile  curled  her 
lips. 

But  the  action  of  the  woman  had  been  seen  by 
the  driver,  across  the  field  ;  and,  flourishing  his 
whip,  he  came  up  to  her. 

"  What !  what !  "  he  said  to  the  woman,  with  an 
air  of  triumph,  "  you  a  foolin'  ?  Go  along  !  yer 
under  me  now, — mind  yourself,  or  yer  '11  cotch  it !  " 

A  glance  like  sheet-lightning  suddenly  flashed  from 
those  black  eyes  ;  and,  facing  about,  with  quivering 
lip  and  dilated  nostrils,  she  drew  herself  up,  and  fixed 
a  glance,  blazing  with  rage  and  scorn,  on  the  driver. 

"  Dog  !  "  she  said,  "  touch  me,  if  you  dare  !  I  've 
power  enough,  yet,  to  have  you  torn  by  the  dogs, 
burnt  alive,  cut  to  inches !  I've  only  to  say  the 
word  !  " 

•  "  What  de  devil  you  here  for,  den  ?  "  said  the  man, 
evidently  cowed,  and  sullenly  retreating  a  step  or 
two.     "  Did  n't  mean  no  harm,  Misse  Cassy  !  " 

"  Keep  your  distance,  then ! "  said  the  woman. 
And,  in  truth,  the  man  seemed  greatly  inclined  to 
attend  to  something  at  the  other  end  of  the  field, 
and  started  off  in  quick  time. 

The  woman  suddenly  turned  to  her  work,  and 
labored  with  a  despatch  that  was  perfectly  astonish- 
ing to  Tom.  She  seemed  to  work  by  magic.  Be- 
fore the  day  was  through,  her  basket  was  filled, 
crowded  down,  and  piled,  and  she  had  several  times 
put  largely  into  Tom's.  Long  after  dusk,  the  whole 
weary  train,  with  their  baskets  on  their  heads,  de- 
filed up  to  the  building  appropriated  to  the  storing 
and  weighing  the  cotton.  Legree  was  there,  busily 
conversing  with  the  two  drivers. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  503 

"  Dat  ar  Tom  's  gwine  to  make  a  powerful  deal 
o'  trouble  ;  kept  a  puttin'  into  Lucy's  basket. — One 
o'  these  yer  dat  will  get  all  der  niggers  to  feelin' 
'bused,  if  Mas'r  don't  watch  him  !  "  said  Sambo. 

"  Hey-dey !  The  black  cuss  !  "  said  Legree. 
"  He  '11  have  to  get  a  breakin'  in,  won't  he,  boys  ?  " 

Both  negroes  grinned  a  horrid  grin,  at  this  in- 
timation. 

"  Ay,  ay !  let  Mas'r  Legree  alone,  for  breakin' 
in  !  De  debil  heself  could  n't  beat  Mas'r  at  dat !  " 
said  Quimbo. 

"  Wal,  boys,  the  best  way  is  to  give  him  the  flog- 
ging to  do,  till  he  gets  over  his  notions.  Break  him 
in!" 

"  Lord,  Mas'r  '11  have  hard  work  to  get  dat  out 
o'  him  !  " 

"  It  '11  have  to  come  out  of  him,  though  !  "  said 
Legree,  as  he  rolled  his  tobacco  in  his  mouth. 

"  Now,  dar  's  Lucy, — de  aggravatinest,  ugliest 
wench  on  de  place  !  "  pursued  Sambo. 

"  Take  care,  Sam ;  I  shall  begin  to  think  what  's 
the  reason  for  your  spite  agin  Lucy." 

"  Well,  Mas'r  knows  she  sot  herself  up  agin  Mas'r, 
and  would  n't  have  me,  when  he  telled  her  to." 

"  I  'd  a  flogged  her  into  't,"  said  Legree,  spitting, 
"  only  there  's  such  a  press  o'  work,  it  don't  seem 
wuth  a  while  to  upset  her  jist  now.  She  's  slender; 
but  these  yer  slender  gals  will  bear  half  killin'  to  get 
their  own  way  !  " 

"  Wal,  Lucy  was  real  aggravatin'  and  lazy,  sulk- 
in'  round  ;  would  n't  do  nothin', — and  Tom  he  tuck 
up  for  her. " 

"  He  did,  eh  !  Wal,  then,  Tom  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  flogging  her.  It  '11  be  a  good  practice 
for  him,  and  he  won't  put  it  on  to  the  gal  like  you 
devils,  neither." 


504  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Ho,  ho  !  haw  !  haw  !  haw !  "  laughed  both  the 
sooty  wretches  ;  and  the  diabolical  sounds  seemed, 
in  truth,  a  not  unapt  expression  of  the  fiendish, 
character  which  Legree  gave  them. 

"  Wal,  but,  Mas'r,  Tom  and  Misse  Cassy,  and 
dey  among  'em,  filled  Lucy's  basket.  I  ruther  guess 
der  weight 's  in  it,  Mas'r  !  " 

"  1 do  the  weighing /"  said  Legree,  emphatically. 

Both  the  drivers  again  laughed  their  diabolical 
laugh. 

"  So  !  "  he  added,  "  Misse  Cassy  did  her  day's 
work." 

"  She  picks  like  de  debil  and  all  his  angels  !  " 

"  She 's  got  'em  all  in  her,  I  believe  ! "  said 
Legree ;  and,  growling  a  brutal  oath,  he  proceeded 
to  the  weighing-room. 

#  #  ;;•*  *  *  *  * 

Slowly  the  weary,  dispirited  creatures,  wound 
their  way  into  the  room,  and,  with  crouching  re- 
luctance, presented  their  baskets  to  be  weighed. 

Legree  noted  on  a  slate,  on  the  side  of  which  was 
pasted  a  list  of  names,  the  amount. 

Tom's  basket  was  weighed  and  approved  ;  and  he 
looked,  with  an  anxious  glance,  for  the  success  of 
the  woman  he  had  befriended. 

Tottering  with  weakness,  she  came  forward,  and 
delivered  her  basket.  It  was  of  full  weight,  as 
Legree  well  perceived ;  but,  affecting  anger,  he 
said, 

"  What,  you  lazy  beast !  short  again  !  stand  aside,, 
you  '11  catch  it,  pretty  soon  !  " 

The  woman  gave  a  groan  of  utter  despair,  and  sat 
down  on  a  board. 

The  person  who  had  been  called  Misse  Cassy  now 
came   forward,   and  with  a  haughty^  negligent  airr 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  505; 

delivered  her  basket.  As  she  delivered  it,  Legree- 
looked  in  her  eyes  with  a  sneering  and  yet  inquir- 
ing glance. 

She  fixed  her  black  eyes  steadily  on  him,  her  lips- 
moved  slightly,  and  she  said  something  in  French.. 
What  it  was,  no  one  knew :  but  Legree's  face 
became  perfectly  demoniacal  in  its  expression,  as 
she  spoke  ;  he  half  raised  his  hand,  as  if  to  strike, — 
a  gesture  which  she  regarded  with  fierce  disdain,  as 
she  turned  and  walked  away. 

"  And  now,"  said  Legree,  "come  here,  you  Tom. 
You  see,  I  telled  ye  I  did  n't  buy  ye  jest  for  the 
common  work  ;  I  mean  to  promote  ye,  and  make 
a  driver  of  ye  ;  and  to-night  ye  may  jest  as  well, 
begin  to  get  yer  hand  in.  Now,  ye  jest  take  this- 
yer  gal  and  flog  her ;  ye  've  seen  enough  on  't  tc* 
know  how." 

"  I  beg  Mas'r's  pardon,"  said  Tom  ;  "  hopes 
Mas'r  won't  set  me  at  that.  It 's  what  I  an't  used 
to, — never  did, — and  can't  do  no  way  possible." 

"  Ye  '11  larn  a  pretty  smart  chance  of  things  ye 
never  did  know,  before  I  've  done  with  ye  !  "  said 
Legree,  taking  up  a  cow-hide,  and  striking  Tom  a. 
heavy  blow  across  the  cheek,  and  following  up  the 
infliction  by  a  shower  of  blows. 

"  There  !  "  he  said,  as  he  stopped  to  rest ;  "  now, 
will  ye  tell  me  ye  can't  do  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  putting  up  his  hand,  to- 
wipe  the  blood,  that  trickled  down  his  face.  "  I  'm 
willin'  to  work,  night  and  day,  and  work  while 
there  's  life  and  breath  in  me ;  but  this  yer  thing 
I  can't  feel  it  right  to  do  ;  — and,  Ma&'r,  I  never 
shall  do  it, — never  f" 

Tom  had  a  remarkably  smooth,  soft  voice,  and  a. 
habitually  respectful  manner,  that  had  given  Legree 


506  UNCLE   tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

an  idea  that  he  would  be  cowardly,  and  easily 
subdued.  When  he  spoke  these  last  words,  a  thrill 
of  amazement  went  through  every  one  ;  the  poor 
woman  clasped  her  hands,  and  said,  "  O  Lord  !  " 
and  every  one  involuntarily  looked  at  each  other 
and  drew  in  their  breath  as  if  to  prepare  for  the 
storm  that  was  about  to  burst. 

Legree  looked  stupefied  and  confounded ;  but  at 
last  burst  forth,  — 

"  What  !  ye  blasted  black  beast !  tell  me  ye  don't 
think  it  right  to  do  what  I  tell  ye  !  What  have  any  of 
you  cussed  cattle  to  do  with  thinking  what 's  right  ? 
I  '11  put  a  stop  to  it !  WThy,  what  do  ye  think  ye 
are  ?  May  be  ye  think  ye  'r  a  gentlemen,  Master 
Tom,  to  be  a  telling  your  master  what  *s  right,  and 
what  an't !     So  you  pretend  it 's  wrong  to  flog  the 

gal!" 

"  I  think  so,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom  ;  "  the  poor  crittur's 
sick  and  feeble  ;  't  would  be  downright  cruel,  and 
it 's  what  I  never  will  do,  nor  begin  to.  Mas'r,  if 
you  mean  to  kill  me,  kill  me  ;  but  as  to  my  raising 
my  hand  agin  any  one  here,  I  never  shall, — I  '11  die 
first !  " 

Tom  spoke  in  a  mild  voice,  but  with  a  decision 
that  could  not  be  mistaken.  Legree  shook  with 
anger  ;  his  greenish  eyes  glared  fiercely,  and  his 
very  whiskers  seemed  to  curl  with  passion ;  but, 
like  some  ferocious  beast,  that  plays  with  its  victim 
before  he  devours  it,  he  kept  back  his  strong  im- 
pulse to  proceed  to  immediate  violence,  and  broke 
out  into  bitter  raillery. 

"  Well,  here 's  a  pious  dog,  at  last  let  down 
among  us  sinners  ! — a  saint,  a  gentleman,  and  no 
less,  to  talk  to  us  sinners  about  our  sins  !  Powerful 
holy  critter,  he  must  be  !    Here,  you  rascal,  you  make 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  507 

believe  to  be  so  pious, — did  n't  you  never  hear,  out 
of  yer  Bible,  '  Servants,  obey  yer  masters '  ?  An't  I 
yer  master  ?  Did  n't  I  pay  down  twelve  hundred 
dollars  cash,  for  all  there  is  inside  yer  old  cussed 
black  shell  ?  An't  yer  mine,  now,  body  and  soul?  " 
he  said,  giving  Tom  a  violent  kick  with  his  heavy 
boot ;  "  tell  me!" 

In  the  very  depth  of  physical  suffering,  bowed  by 
brutal  oppression,  this  question  shot  a  gleam  of  joy 
and  triumph  through  Tom's  soul.  He  suddenly 
.stretched  himself  up,  and,  looking  earnestly  to 
heaven,  while  the  tears  and  blood  that  flowed  down 
his  face  mingled,  he  exclaimed, 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  my  soul  an't  yours,  Mas'r  !  You 
have  n't  bought  it, — ye  can't  buy  it !  It  's  been 
bought  and  paid  for,  by  one  that  is  able  to  keep  it ; 
— no  matter,  no  matter,  you  can't  harm  me  !  " 

"  I  can't ! "  said  Legree,  with  a  sneer ;  "  we  '11 
see, — we  '11  see  !  Here,  Sambo,  Quimbo,  give  this 
dog  such  a  breakin'  in  as  he  won't  get  over,  this 
month  ! " 

The  two  gigantic  negroes  that  now  laid  hold  of 
Tom,  with  fiendish  exultation  in  their  faces,  might 
have  formed  no  unapt  personification  of  powers  of 
■darkness.  The  poor  woman  screamed  with  appre- 
hension, and  all  rose,  as  by  a  general  impulse,  while 
they  dragged  him  unresisting  from  the  place. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    QUADROON'S    STORY. 

And  behold  the  tears  of  such  as  are  oppressed  ;  and  on  the  side  of  their 
oppressors  there  was  power.  Wherefore  I  praised  the  dead  that  are  already 
<lead  more  than  the  living  that  are  yet  alive. — Eccl.  4  :  1 . 

It  was  late  at  night,  and  Tom  lay  groaning  and 
bleeding  alone,  in  an  old  forsaken  room  of  the  gin- 

34 


508  UNCLE    TOM'S    CAEIN  :    OR, 

house,  among  pieces  of  broken  machinery,  piles; 
of  damaged  cotton,  and  other  rubbish  which  had 
there  accumulated. 

The  night  was  damp  and  close,  and  the  thick  air 
swarmed  with  myriads  of  mosquitos,  which  increased 
the  restless  torture  of  his  wounds  ;  whilst  a  burning 
thirst — a  torture  beyond  all  others — filled  up  the 
uttermost  measure  of  physical  anguish. 

"  O,  good  Lord  !  Do  look  down, — give  me  the 
victory ! — give  me  the  victory  over  all !  "  prayed 
poor  Tom,  in  his  anguish. 

A  footstep  entered  the  room,  behind  him,  and  the 
light  of  a  lantern  flashed  on  his  eyes. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  O,  for  the  Lord's  massy,  please 
give  me  some  water  !  " 

The  woman  Cassy — for  it  was  she — set  down  her 
lantern,  and,  pouring  water  from  a  bottle,  raised  his 
head,  and  gave  him  drink.  Another  and  another 
cup  were  drained,  with  feverish  eagerness. 

"  Drink  all  ye  want,"  she  said  ;  "  I  knew  how  it 
would  be.  It  is  n't  the  first  time  I  've  been  out  in 
the  night,  carrying  water  to  such  as  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Missis,"  said  Tom,  when  he  had 
done  drinking. 

"  Don't  call  me  Missis  !  I  'm  a  miserable  slave* 
like  yourself, — a  lower  one  than  you  can  ever  be  ! " 
said  she,  bitterly  ;  "  but  now,"  said  she,  going  to  the 
door,  and  dragging  in  a  small  pallaise,  over  which 
she  had  spread  linen  cloths  wet  with  cold  water, 
"  try,  my  poor  fellow,  to  roll  yourself  on  to  this." 

Stiff  with  wounds  and  bruises,  Tom  was  a  long 
time  in  accomplishing  this  movement ;  but,  when, 
done,  he  felt  a  sensible  relief  from  the  cooling  ap- 
plication to  his  wounds. 

The  woman,  whom  long  practice  with  the  victims 


/ 

LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  509 

of  brutality  had  made  familiar  with  many  healing 
arts,  went  on  to  make  many  applications  to  Tom's 
wounds,  by  means  of  which  he  was  soon  somewhat 
relieved. 

"  Now,"  said  the  woman,  when  she  had  raised 
his  head  on  a  roll  of  damaged  cotton,  which  served- 
for  a  pillow,  "  there  's  the  best  I  can  do  for  you." 

Tom  thanked  her;  and  the  woman,  sitting  down 
on  the  floor,  drew  up  her  knees,  and  embracing  them 
with  her  arms,  looked  fixedly  before  her,  with  a  bit- 
ter and  painful  expression  of  countenance.  Her 
bonnet  fell  back,  and  long  wavy  streams  of  black- 
hair  fell  around  her  singular  and  melancholy  face. 

"  It 's  no  use,  my  poor  fellow  !  "  she  broke  out,  at 
last,  "  it 's  of  no  use,  this  you  've  been  trying  to  do. 
You  were  a  brave  fellow, — you  had  the  right  on  your 
side  ;  but  it 's  all  in  vain,  and  out  of  the  question, 
for  you  to  struggle.  You  are  in  the  devil's  hands ; — 
he  is  the  strongest,  and  you  must  give  up ! " 

Give-up  !  and,  had  not  human  weakness  and  phys- 
ical agony  whispered  that,  before  ?  Tom  started  ; 
for  the  bitter  woman,  with  her  wild  eyes  and  melan- 
choly voice,  seemed  to  him  an  embodiment  of  the 
temptation  with  which  he  had  been  wrestling. 

'"  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  "  he  groaned,  "  how  can  I  give- 
up  ? " 

"  There  's  no  use  calling  on  the  Lord, — he  never 
hears,"  said  the  woman,  steadily  ;  "  there  is  n't  any 
God,  I  believe  ;  or,  if  there  is,  he  s  taken  sides  against 
us.  All  goes  against  us,  heaven  and  earth.  Every- 
thing is  pushing  us  into  hell.  Why  should  n  't  we 
go  ?  " 

Tom  closed  his  eyes,  and  shuddered  at  the  dark, 
atheistic  words. 

"You   see,"  said  the   woman,   "you  don't  know- 


5IO  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

anything  about  it ; — I  da.  I  've  been  on  this  place 
five  years,  body  and  soul,  under  this  man's  foot ; 
and  I  hate  him  as  I  do  the  devil !  Here  you  are, 
on  a  lone  plantation,  ten  miles  from  any  other,  in 
the  swamps  ;  not  a  white  person  here,  who  could 
testify,  if  you  were  burned  alive,— if  you  were 
scalded,  cut  into  inch-pieces,  set  up  for  the  dogs  to 
tear,  or  hung  up  and  whipped  to  death.  TJiere  's 
no  law  here,  of  God  or  man,  that  can  do  you,  or  any 
one  of  us,  the  least  good ;  and,  this  man !  there  's 
no  earthly  thing  that  he  's  too  good  to  do.  I  could 
make  any  one's  hair  rise,  and  their  teeth  chatter,  if  I 
should  only  tell  what  I  've  seen  and  been  knowing 
to,  here, — and  it 's  no  use  resisting  !  Did  I  want  to 
live  with  him  ?  Was  n't  I  a  woman  delicately  bred ; 
and  he — God  in  heaven  !  what  was  he,  and  is  he  ? 
And  yet  I  've  lived  with  him,  these  five  years,  and 
cursed  every  moment  of  my  life, — night  and  day ! 
And  now,  he  's  got  a  new  one, — a  young  thing,  only 
fifteen,  and  she  brought  up,  she  says,  piously.  Her 
good  mistress  taught  her  to  read  the  Bible ;  and 
•she  's  brought  her  Bible  here — to  hell  with  her  !  " — 
and  the  woman  laughed  a  wild  and  doleful  laugh, 
that  rung,  with  a  strange,  supernatural  sound, 
through  the  old  ruined  shed. 

Tom  folded  his  hands ;  all  was  darkness  and 
.horror. 

"  O  Jesus  !  Lord  Jesus !  have  you  quite  forgot 
lis  poor  critters  ? "  burst  forth,  at  last ; — "  help, 
Lord,  I  perish  !  " 

The  woman  sternly  continued  : 

"  And  what  are  these  miserable  low  dogs  you  work 
•with,  that  you  should  suffer  on  their  account  ?  Every 
one  of  them  would  turn  against  you,  the  first  time 
they  got  a  chance.     They  are  all  of  'em  as  low  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  511 

cruel  to  each  other  as  they  can  be  ;   there  's  no  use- 
in  your  suffering  to  keep  from  hurting  them." 

"  Poor  critters  !  "  said  Tom, — "  what  made  'em 
cruel  ? — and,  if  I  give  out,  I  shall  get  used  to  't,  and 
grow,  little  by  little,  just  like  'em  !  No,  no,  Missis  !. 
I  've  lost  everything, — wife,  and  children,  and  home, 
and  a  kind  Mas'r, — and  he  would  have  set  me  free, 
if  he  'd  only  lived  a  week  longer  ;  I  've  lost  every- 
thing in  this  world,  and  it  's  clean  gone,  forever, — 
and  now  I  can't  lose  Heaven,  too  ;  no,  I  can't  get 
to  be  wicked,  besides  all !  " 

"  But  it  can't  be  that  the  Lord  will  lay  sin  to  our 
account,"  said  the  woman ;  "  he  won't  charge  it  to 
us,  when  we  're  forced  to  it ;  he  '11  charge  it  to  them 
that  drove  us  to  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but  that  won't  keep  us  from 
growing  wicked.  If  I  get  to  be  as  hard-hearted  as 
that  ar'  Sambo,  and  as  wicked,  it  won't  make  much 
odds  to  me  how  I  come  so  ;  it 's  the  beirf  so, — that 
ar  's  what  I  'm  a  dreadin'." 

The  woman  fixed  a  wild  and  startled  look  on 
Tom,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  struck  her ;  and  then, 
heavily  groaning,  said, 

"O  God  a' mercy !  you  speak  the  truth!  O — r 
O — O  !  " — and,  with  groans,  she  fell  on  the  floor, 
like  one  crushed  and  writhing  under  the  extremity 
of  mental  anguish. 

There  was  a  silence,  a  while,  in  which  the  breath- 
ing of  both  parties  could  be  heard,  when  Tom  faintly 
said,  "  O,  please,  Missis  !  " 

The  woman  suddenly  rose  up,  with  her  face  com^ 
posed  to  its  usual  stern,  melancholy  expression. 

"  Please,  Missis,  I  saw  'em  throw  my  coat  in  that 
ar'  corner,  and  in  my  coat-pocket  is  my  Bible  ;—if\ 
Missis  would  please  get  it  for  me." 


512  UNCLE   TOM S    CABIN:    OR, 

Cassy  went  and  got  it.  Tom  opened,  at  once,  to 
a  heavily  marked  passage,  much  worn,  of  the  last 
^scenes  in  the  life  of  Him  by  whose  stripes  we  are 
Jiealed. 

"  If  Missis  would  only  be  so  good  as  read  that 
ar', — it 's  better  than  water." 

Cassy  took  the  book,  with  a  dry,  proud  air,  and 
looked  over  the  passage.  She  then  read  aloud,  in 
a  soft  voice,  and  with  a  beauty  of  intonation  that 
was  peculiar,  that  touching  account  of  anguish  and 
of  glory.  Often,  as  she  read,  her  voice  faltered, 
and  sometimes  failed  her  altogether,  when  she 
would  stop,  with  an  air  of  rigid  composure,  till  she 
had  mastered  herself.  When  she  came  to  the  touch- 
ing words,  "  Father  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not 
what  they  do,"  she  threw  down  the  book,  and,  bury- 
ing her  face  in  the  heavy  masses  of  her  hair,  she 
sobbed  aloud,  with  a  convulsive  violence. 

Tom  was  weeping,  also,  and  occasionally  uttering 
a  smothered  ejaculation. 

"  If  we  only  could  keep  up  to  that  ar'  ! "  said 
Tom  ; — "  it  seemed  to  come  so  natural  to  him,  and 
we  have  to  fight  so  hard  for  't !  O  Lord,  help  us  ! 
O  blessed  Lord  Jesus,  do  help  us  !  " 

"  Missis,"  said  Tom,  after  a  while,  "  I  can  see 
that,  some  how,  you  're  quite  'bove  me  in  every- 
thing ;  but  there  's  one  thing  Missis  might  learn 
even  from  poor  Tom.  Ye  said  the  Lord  took  sides 
against  us,  because  he  lets  us  be  'bused  and  knocked 
round  ;  but  ye  see  what  come  on  his  own  Son, — 
the  blessed  Lord  of  Glory, — wan't  he  allays  poor? 
and  have  we,  any  on  us,  yet  come  so  low  as  he  come  ? 
The  Lord  han't  forgot  us, — I  'm  sartin'  o'  that  ar'. 
If  we  suffer  with  him,  we  shall  also  reign,  Scripture 
says  ;  but,   if  we  deny  him,   he  also  will  deny  us. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  513 

Did  n  't  they  all  suffer  ? — the  Lord  and  all  his  ?  It 
tells  how  they  was  stoned  and  sawn  asunder,  and 
"wandered  about  in  sheep-skins  and  goat-skins,  and 
was  destitute,  afflicted,  tormented.  Sufferin'  an't 
no  reason  to  make  us  think  the  Lord  's  turned  agin 
us  ;  but  jest  the  contrary,  if  only  we  hold  on  to  him, 
and  does  n't  give  up  to  sin." 

"  But  why  does  he  put  us  where  we  can't  help  but 
sin  ?  "  said  the  woman. 

"  I  think  we  can  help  it,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  '11  see,"  said  Cassy  ;  "  what  '11  you  do  ? 
To-morrow  they  '11  be  at  you  again.  I  know  'em  ; 
I  've  seen  all  their  doings  ;  I  can't  bear  to  think  of 
all  they  '11  bring  you  to  ; — and  they  '11  make  you 
give  out,  at  last !  " 

"  Lord  Jesus  !  "  said  Tom,  "  you  will  take  care  of 
my  soul  ?     O  Lord,  do  ! — don't  let  me  give  out ! 

"  O  dear !  "  said  Cassy  ;  "  I  've  heard  all  this 
crying  and  praying  before  ;  and  yet,  they  've  been 
broken  down,  and  brought  under.  There's  Emme- 
line.  she  's  trying  to  hold  on,  and  you  're  trying, — . 
but  what  use  ?  You  must  give  up,  or  be  killed  by 
inches." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  die  !  "  said  Tom.  "  Spin  it 
out  as  long  as  they  can,  they  can't  help  my  dying, 
some  time  ! — and,  after  that,  they  can't  do  no  more. 
I  'm  clar,  I  'm  set !  I  know  the  Lord  '11  help  me, 
and  bring  me  through." 

The  woman  did  not  answer  ;  she  sat  with  her 
black  eyes  intently  fixed  on  the  floor. 

"  May  be  it 's  the  way,"  she  murmured  to  herself ; 
""  but  those  that  have  given  up,  there  's  no  hope  for 
them  ! — none  !  We  live  in  filth,  and  grow  loathsome, 
till  we  loathe  ourselves  !  And  we  long  to  die,  and 
we   don't    dare   to   kill    ourselves  ! — No    hope !    no 


514  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

hope !    no  hope  i — this  girl   now, — just  as  old  as  I 
was  ! 

"  You  see  me  now,"  she  said,  speaking  to  Tom 
very  rapidly ;  "  see  what  I  am !  Well,  I  was 
brought  up  in  luxury ;  the  first  I  remember  is, 
playing  about,  when  I  was  a  child,  in  splendid  par- 
lors; — when  I  was  kept  dressed  up  like  a  doll,  and 
company  and  visitors  used  to  praise  me.  There 
was  a  garden  opening  from  the  saloon  windows ; 
and  there  I  used  to  play  hide-and-go-seek,  under 
the  orange-trees,  with  my  brothers  and  sisters.  I 
went  to  a  convent,  and  there  I  learned  music,  French 
and  embroidery,  and  what  not;  and  when  I  was 
fourteen,  I  came  out  to  my  father's  funeral.  He 
died  very  suddenly,  and  when  the  property  came  to- 
be  settled,  they  found  that  there  was  scarcely  enough 
to  cover  the  debts  ;  and  when  the  creditors  took  an 
inventory  of  the  property,  I  was  set  down  in  it.  My 
mother  was  a  slave  woman,  and  my  father  had  al- 
ways meant  to  set  me  free ;  but  he  had  not  done  it, 
and  so  I  was  set  down  in  the  list.  I  'd  always  known 
who  I  was,  but  never  thought  much  about  it.  No- 
body ever  expects  that  a  strong,  healthy  man  is  a 
going  to  die.  My  father  was  a  well  man  only  four 
hours  before  he  died  ; — it  was  one  of  the  first  cholera 
cases  in  New  Orleans.  The  day  after  the  funeral, 
my  father's  wife  took  her  children,  and  went  up  to 
her  father's  plantation.  I  thought  they  treated  me 
strangely,  but  did  n't  know.  There  was  a  young 
lawyer  who  they  left  to  settle  the  business ;  and  he 
came  every  day,  and  was  about  the  house,  and 
spoke  very  politely  to  me.  He  brought  with  him, 
one  day,  a  young  man,  whom  I  thought  the  hand- 
somest I  had  ever  seen.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
evening.     I  walked  with  him  in  the  garden.     I  was 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  515 

lonesome  and  full  of  sorrow,  and  he  was  so  kind 
and  gentle  to  me  ;  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  seen 
me  before  I  went  to  the  convent,  and  that  he  had 
loved  me  a  great  while,  and  that  he  would  be  my 
friend  and  protector  ; — in  short,  though  he  did  n't 
tell  me,  he  had  paid  two  thousand  dollars  for  me, 
and  I  was  his  property, — I  became  his  willingly, 
for  I  loved  him.  Loved  !  "  said  the  woman,  stop- 
ping. "  O,  how  I  did  love  that  man  !  How  I  love 
him  now, — and  always  shall,  while  I  breathe  !  He 
was  so  beautiful,  so  high,  so  noble  !  He  put  me 
into  a  beautiful  house,  with  servants,  horses,  and 
carriages,  and  furniture,  and  dresses.  Everything 
that  money  could  buy,  he  gave  me ;  but  I  did  n't 
set  any  value  on  all  that, — I  only  cared  for  him, 
I  loved  him  better  than  my  God  and  my  own  soul ;, 
and  if  I  tried,  I  £ould  n't  do  any  other  way  from 
what  he  wanted  me  to. 

"  I  wanted  only  one  thing — I  did  want  him  to 
marry  me.  I  thought,  if  he  loved  me  as  he  said  he 
did,  and  if  I  was  what  he  seemed  to  think  I  was,  he 
would  be  willing  to  marry  me  and  set  me  free.  But 
he  convinced  me  that  it  would  be  impossible  ;  and. 
he  told  me  that,  if  we  were  only  faithful  to  each  other, 
it  was  marriage  before  God.  If  that  is  true,  was  n't 
I  that  man's  wife  ?  Was  n't  I  faithful  ?  For  seven 
years,  did  n't  I  study  every  look  and  motion,  and 
only  live  and  breathe  to  please  him  ?  He  had  the 
yellow  fever,  and  for  twenty  days  and  nights  I 
watched  with  him.  I  alone, — and  gave  him  all  his 
medicine,  and  did  everything  for  him ;  and  then  he 
called  me  his  good  angel,  and  said  I  'd  saved  his  life. 
We  had  two  beautiful  children.  The  first  was  a  boy, 
and  we  called  him  Henry.  He  was  the  image  of  his 
father, — he  had  such  beautiful  eyes,  such  a  forehead,. 


516  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN:    OR, 

and  his  hair  hung  all  in  curls  around  it ;  and  he  had 
all  his  father's  spirit,  and  his  talent,  too.  Little 
Elise,  he  said,  looked  like  me.  He  used  to  tell  me 
that  I  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Louisiana, 
he  was  so  proud  of  me  and  the  children.  He  used 
to  love  to  have  me  dress  them  up,  and  take  them  and 
me  about  in  an  open  carriage,  and  hear  the  remarks 
that  people  would  make  on  us ,  and  he  used  to  fill 
my  ears  constantly  with  the  fine  things  that  were 
said  in  praise  of  me  and  the  children.  O,  those  were 
happy  days  !  I  thought  I  was  as  happy  as  any  one 
could  be  ;  but  then  there  came  evil  times.  He  had 
a  cousin  come  to  New  Orleans,  who  was  his  par- 
ticular friend, — he  thought  all  the  world  of  him  ; — 
but,  from  the  first  time  I  saw  him,  I  could  n't  tell 
why,  I  dreaded  him  ;  for  I  felt  sure,  he  was  going  to 
bring  misery  on  us.  He  got  Henry  to  going  out 
with  him,  and  often  he  would  not  come  home  nights 
till  two  or  three  o'clock.  I  did  not  dare  say  a  word ; 
for  Henry  was  so  high-spirited,  I  was  afraid  to.  He 
got  him  to  the  gaming-houses  ;  and  he  was  one  of 
the  sort  that,  when  he  once  got  a  going  there,  there 
was  no  holding  back.  And  then  he  introduced  him 
to  another  lady,  and  I  saw  soon  that  his  heart  was 
gone  from  me.  He  never  told  me,  but  I  saw  it, — I 
knew  it,  day  after  day, — I  felt  my  heart  breaking, 
but  I  could  not  say  a  word  !  At  this,  the  wretch 
offered  to  buy  me  and  the  children  of  Henry,  to  clear 
off  his  gambling  debts,  which  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
marrying  as  he  wished  ; — and  he  sold  us.  He  told 
me,  one  day,  that  he  had  business  in  the  country, 
and  should  be  gone  two  or  three  weeks.  He  spoke 
kinder  than  usual,  and  said  he  should  come  back  ; 
but  it  did  n't  deceive  me.  I  knew  that  the  time  had 
come ;  I  was   just  like  one   turned   into    stone  :  I 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  517 

could  n't  speak,  nor  shed  a  tear.  He  kissed  me  and 
kissed  the  children,  a  good  many  times,  and  went 
out.  I  saw  him  get  on  his  horse,  and  I  watched 
him  till  he  was  quite  out  of  sight ;  and  then  I  fell 
down,  and  fainted. 

"  Then  he  came,  the  cursed  wretch  !  he  came  to 
take  possession.  He  told  me  that  he  had  bought 
me  and  my  children  ;  and  showed  me  the  papers. 
I  cursed  him  before  God,  and  told  him  I  'd  die 
sooner  than  live  with  him. 

"  *  Just  as  you  please/  said  he  ;  '  but,  if  you  don't 
behave  reasonably,  I  '11  sell  both  the  children, 
where  you  shall  never  see  them  again.'  He  told  me 
that  he  always  had  meant  to  have  me,  from  the  first 
time  he  saw  me ;  and  .that  he  had  drawn  Henry  on, 
and  got  him  in  debt,  on  purpose  to  make  him  willing 
to  sell  me.  That  he  got  him  in  love  with  another  wo- 
man ;  and  that  I  might  know,  after  all  that,  that  he 
should  not  give  up  for  a  few  airs  and  tears,  and 
things  of  that  sort. 

"  I  gave  up,  for  my  hands  were  tied.  He  had  my 
children ; — whenever  I  resisted  his  will  anywhere, 
he  would  talk  about  selling  them,  and  he  made  me 
as  submissive  as  he  desired.  O,  what  a  life  it  was  ! 
to  live  with  my  heart  breaking,  every  day, — to  keep 
on,  on,  on,  loving,  when  it  was  only  misery ;  and  to 
be  bound,  body  and  soul,  to  one  I  hated.  I  used  to 
love  to  read  to  Henry,  to  play  to  him,  to  waltz  with 
him,  and  sing  to  him  ;  but  everything  I  did  for  this 
one  was  a  perfect  drag, — yet  I  was  afraid  to  refuse 
anything.  He  was  very  imperious,  and  harsh  to  the 
children.  Elise  was  a  timid  little  thing ;  but  Henry 
was  bold  and  high-spirited,  like  his  father,  and  he 
had  never  been  brought  under,  in  the  least,  by  any 
one.     He  was  always  finding  fault,  and  quarrelling 


518  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

with  him ;  and  I  used  to  live  in  daily  fear  and 
dread.  I  tried  to  make  the  child  respectful ;— I 
tried  to  keep  them  apart,  for  I  held  on  to*  those 
children  like  death  ;  but  it  did  no  good.  He  sold 
both  those  children.  He  took  me  to  ride,  one  day, 
and  when  I  came  home,  they  were  nowhere  to  be 
found  \  He  told  me  he  had  sold  them ;  he  showed 
me  the  money,  the  price  of  their  blood.  Then  it 
seemed  as  if  all  good  forsook  me.  I  raved  and 
cursed, — cursed  God  and  man ;  and,  for  a  while,  I 
believe,  he  really  was  afraid  of  me.  But  he  did  n't 
give  up  so.  He  told  me  that  my  children  were  sold, 
but  whether  I  ever  saw  their  faces  again,  depended 
on  him  ;  and  that,  if  I  was  n't  quiet,  they  should  smart 
for  it.  Well,  you  can  do  anything  with  a  woman, 
when  you  've  got  her  children.  He  made  me  sub- 
mit ;  he  made  me  be  peaceable ;  he'  flattered  me 
with  hopes  that,  perhaps,  he  would  buy  them  back  ; 
and  so  things  went  on  a  week  or  two.  One  day,  I 
was  out  walking,  and  passed  by  the  calaboose  ;  I  saw 
a  crowd  about  the  gate,  and  heard  a  child's  voice, 
— and  suddenly  my  Henry  broke  away  from  two  or 
three  men  who  were  holding  him,  and  ran,  scream- 
ing, and  caught  my  dress.  They  came  up  to  him, 
swearing  dreadfully  ;  and  one  man,  whose  face  I 
shall  never  forget,  told  him  that  he  would  n't  get 
away  so ;  that  he  was  going  with  him  into  the  cala- 
boose, and  he  'd  get  a  lesson  there  he  'd  never  for- 
get. I  tried  to  beg  and  plead,— they  only  laughed  ; 
the  poor  boy  screamed  and  looked  into  my  face,  and 
held  on  to  me,  until,  in  tearing  him  off,  they  tore 
the  skirt  of  my  dress  half  away  ;  and  they  carried 
him  in,  screaming  '  Mother  !  mother  !  mother  ! ' 
There  was  one  man  stood  there  seemed  to  pity  me. 
I   offered  him  all  the  money  I  had,   if  he  'd  only 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY,  519 

interfere.  He  shook  his  head,  and  said  that  the 
man  said  the  boy  had  been  impudent  and  disobe- 
dient ever  since  he  bought  him  ;  that  he  was  going  to 
break  him  in,  once  for  all.  I  turned  and  ran  ;  and 
every  step  of  the  way,  I  thought  that  I  heard  him 
scream.  I  got  into  the  house ;  ran,  all  out  of 
breath,  to  the  parlor,  where  I  found  Butler.  I  told 
him,  and  begged  him  to  go  and  interfere.  He  only 
laughed,  and  told  me  the  boy  had  got  his  deserts. 
He  'd  got  to  be  broken  in, — the  sooner  the  better ; 
*  what  did  I  expect  ?  •  he  asked. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  something  in  my  head  snapped, 
at  that  moment.  I  felt  dizzy  and  furious.  I  re- 
member seeing  a  great  sharp  bowie-knife  on  the 
table;  I  remember  something  about  catching  it,  and 
flying  upon  him ;  and  then  all  grew  dark,  and  I 
did  n't  know  any  more — not  for  days  and  days. 

"When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  in  a  nice  room, — 
but  not  mine.  An  old  black  woman  tended  me ; 
and  a  doctor  came  to  see  me,  and  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  care  taken  of  me.  After  a  while,  I  found 
that  he  had  gone  away,  and  left  me  at  this  house  to 
be  sold  ;  and  that 's  why  they  took  such  pains  with 
me. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  get  well,  and  hoped  I  should  n't ; 
but,  in  spite  of  me,  the  fever  went  off,  and  I  grew 
healthy,  and  finally  got  up.  Then,  they  made 
me  dress  up,  every  day ;  and  gentlemen  used  to 
come  in  and  stand  and  smoke  their  cigars,  and  look 
at  me,  and  ask  questions,  and  debate  my  price.  I 
was  so  gloomy  and  silent,  that  none  of  them  wanted 
me.  They  threatened  to  whip  me,  if  I  was  n't 
gayer,  and  did  n't  take  some  pains  to  make  myself 
agreeable.  At  length,  one  day,  came  a  gentleman 
named  Stuart.     He  seemed  to  have  some  feeling  for 


520  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

me ;  he  saw  that  something  dreadful  was  on  my 
heart,  and  he  came  to  see  me  alone,  a  great  many 
times,  and  finally  persuaded  me  to  tell  him.  He 
bought  me,  at  last,  and  promised  to  do  all  he  could 
to  find  and  buy  back  my  children.  He  went  to  the 
hotel  where  my  Henry  was;  they  told  him  he  had 
been  sold  to  a  planter  up  on  Pearl  river ;  that  was 
the  last  that  I  ever  heard.  Then  he  found  where 
my  daughter  was  ;  an  old  woman  was  keeping  her. 
He  offered  an  immense  sum  for  her,  but  they  would 
not  sell  her.  Butler  found  out  that  it  was  for  me  he 
wanted  her;  and  he  sent  me  word  that  I  should 
never  have  her.  Captain  Stuart  was  very  kind  to 
me  ;  he  had  a  splendid  plantation,  and  took  me  to 
it.  In  the  course  of  a  year,  I  had  a  son  born.  O, 
that  child ! — how  I  loved  it !  How  just  like  my 
poor  Henry  the  little  thing  looked  I  But  I  had 
made  up  my  mind, — yes,  I  had.  I  would  never 
a.gain  let  a  child  live  to  grow  up  !  I  took  the  little 
fellow  in  my  arms,  when  he  was  two  weeks  old,  and 
kissed  him,  and  cried  over  him  ;  and  then  I  gave  him 
laudanum,  and  held  him  close  to  my  bosom,  while 
he  slept  to  death.  How  I  mourned  and  cried  over 
it !  and  who  ever  dreamed  that  it  was  anything  but 
a  mistake,  that  had  made  me  give  it  the  laudanum  ? 
but  it  's  one  of  the  few  things  that  I  'm  glad  of.  now. 
I  am  not  sorry,  to  this  day  ;  he,  at  least,  is  out  of  pain. 
What  better  than  death  could  I  give  him,  poor 
child !  After  a  while,  the  cholera  came,  and  Cap- 
tain Stuart  died ;  everybody  died  that  wanted  to 
live, — and  I, — I,  though  I  went  down  to  death's 
door, — I  lived 7  Then  I  was  sold,  and  passed  from 
hand  to  hand,  till  I  grew  faded  and  wrinkled,  and  I 
had  a  fever  ;  and  then  this  wretch  bought  me,  and 
brought  me  here, — and  here  I  am  !  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  52 1 

The  woman  stopped.  She  had  hurried  on  through 
her  story,  with  a  wild,  passionate  utterance  ;  some- 
times seeming  to  address  it  to  Tom,  and  sometimes 
speaking  as  in  a  soliloquy.  So  vehement  and  over- 
powering was  the  force  with  which  she  spoke,  thatr 
for  a  season,  Tom  was  beguiled  even  from  the  pain 
of  his  wounds,  and,  raising  himself  on  one  elbow,, 
watched  her  as  she  paced  restlessly  up  and  down,, 
her  long  black  hair  swaying  heavily  about  her,  as 
she  moved. 

"You  tell  me,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "that 
there  is  a  God, — a  God  that  looks  down  and  sees 
all  these  things.  May  be  it 's  so.  The  sisters  in 
the  convent  used  to  tell  me  of  a  day  of  judgment^, 
when  everything  is  coming  to  light ; — won't  there 
be  vengeance,  then ! 

"  They  think  it 's  nothing,  what  we  suffer, — noth- 
ing, what  our  children  suffer  !  It's  all  a  small  mat- 
ter ;  yet  I  've  walked  the  streets  when  it  seemed  as 
if  I  had  misery  enough  in  my  one  heart  to  sink  the. 
city.  I  've  wished  the  houses  would  fall  on  me,  or 
the  stones  sink  under  me.  Yes  !  and,  in  the  judg- 
ment day,  I  will  stand  up  before  God,  a  witness 
against  those  that  have  ruined  me  and  my  children, 
body  and  soul ! 

"  When  I  was  a  girl,  I  thought  I  was  religious ;  I 
used  to  love  God  and  prayer.  Now,  I  'm  a  lost 
soul,  pursued  by  devils  that  torment  me  day  and. 
night ;  they  keep  pushing  me  on  and  on — and  I  '1L 
do  it,  too,  some  of  these  days  !  "  she  said,  clenching 
her  hand,  while  an  insane  light  glanced  in  her  heavy 
black  eyes.  "  I  '11  send  him  where  he  belongs, — a. 
short  way,  too, — one  of  these  nights,  if  they  burn 
me  alive  for  it !  "  A  wild,  long  laugh,  rang  through 
the  deserted  room,  and  ended  in  a  hysteric  sob  ;  she 


52  2  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

threw  herself  on  the  floor,  in  convulsive  sobbings 
and  struggles. 

In  a  few  moments,  the  frenzy  fit  seemed  to  pass 
off;  she  rose  slowly,  and  seemed  to  collect  herself. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  more  for  you,  my  poor  fel- 
low?" she  said,  approaching  where  Tom  lay; 
*l  shall  I  give  you  some  more  water  ?  " 

There  was  a  graceful  and  compassionate  sweet- 
ness in  her  voice  and  manner,  as  she  said  this,  that 
formed  a  strange  contrast  with  the  former  wildness. 

Tom  drank  the  water,  and  looked  earnestly  and 
pitifully  into  her  face. 

"  O,  Missis,  I  wish  you  'd  go  to  him  that  can  give 
you  living  waters  !  " 

"  Go  to  him  !  Where  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  "  said 
Cassy. 

u  Him  that  you  read  of  to  me, — the  Lord." 

"  I  used  to  see.  the  picture  of  him,  over  the  altar, 
when  I  was  a  girl,"  said  Cassy,  her  dark  eyes  fixing 
themselves  in  an  expression  of  mournful  reverie ; 
<4  but,  he  isn't  here!  there's  nothing  here,  but  sin 
and  long,  long,  long  despair  !  O  !  "  She  laid  her 
hand  on  her  breast  and  drew  in  her  breath,  as  if  to 
lift  a  heavy  weight. 

Tom  looked  as  if  he  would  speak  again  ;  but  she 
cut  him  short,  with  a  decided  gesture. 

"  Don't  talk,  my  poor  fellow.  Try  to  sleep,  if  you 
can."  And,  placing  water  in  his  reach,  and  making 
whatever  little  arrangements  for  his  comfort  she 
could,  Cassy  left  the  shed. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  523 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    TOKENS. 

And  slight,  withal,  may  be  the  things  that  bring 
Back  on  the  heart  the  weight  which  it  would  fling 
Aside  forever  ;  it  may  be  a  sound, 
A  flower,  the  wind,  the  ocean,  which  shall  wound, — 
Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we're  darkly  bound. 
Childe  Harold 's  Pilgrimage,  Can.  4. 

The  sitting-room  of  Legree's  establishment  was  a 
large,  long  room,  with  a  wide,  ample  fireplace.  It 
had  once  been  hung  with  a  showy  and  expensive 
paper,  which  now  hung  mouldering,  torn  and  dis- 
colored, from  the  damp  walls.  The  place  had  that 
peculiar  sickening,  unwholesome  smell,  compounded 
of  mingled  damp,  dirt  and  decay,  which  one  often 
notices  in  close  old  houses.  The  wall-paper  was 
defaced,  in  spots,  by  slops  of  beer  and  wine  ;  or 
garnished  with  chalk  memorandums,  and  long  sums 
footed  up,  as  if  somebody  had  been  practising 
arithmetic  there.  In  the  fireplace  stood  a  brazier 
full  of  burning  charcoal ;  for,  though  the  weather 
was  not  cold,  the  evenings  always  seemed  damp  and 
chilly  in  that  great  room  ;  and  Legree,  moreover, 
wanted  a  place  to  light  his  cigars,  and  heat  his 
water  for  punch.  The  ruddy  glare  of  the  charcoal 
displayed  the  confused  and  unpromising  aspect  of 
the  room, — saddles,  bridles,  several  sorts  of  harness, 
riding-whips,  overcoats,  and  various  articles  of  cloth- 
ing, scattered  up  and  down  the  room  in  confused 
variety  ;  and  the  dogs,  of  whom  we  have  before 
spoken,  had  encamped  themselves  among  them,  to 
suit  their  own  taste  and  convenience. 

Legree  was  just  mixing  himself  a  tumbler  of 
punch,  pouring  his  hot  water  from  a  cracked  and 
broken-nosed  pitcher,  grumbling,  as  he  did  so, 


524  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR 

"  Plague  on  that  Sambo,  to  kick  up  this  yer  row 
between  me  and  the  new  hands !  The  fellow  won't 
be  fit  to  work  for  a  week,  now, — right  in  the  press  of 
the  season !  " 

"  Yes,  just  like  you,"  said  a  voice,  behind  his 
chair.  It  was  the  woman  Cassy,  who  had  stolen 
upon  his  soliloquy. 

"  Hah  !  you  she-devil  !  you  've  come  back,  have 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  she  said,  coolly ;  "  come  to  have 
my  own  way,  too  !  " 

"  You  lie,  you  jade  !  I  '11  be  up  to  my  word. 
Either  behave  yourself,  or  stay  down  to  the  quarters* 
and  fare  and  work  with  the  rest." 

"  I  'd  rather,  ten  thousand  times,"  said  the  woman, 
"  live  in  the  dirtiest  hole  at  the  quarters,  than  be 
under  your  hoof  !  " 

"  But  you  are  under  my  hoof,  for  all  that,"  said 
he,  turning  upon  her,  with  a  savage  grin  ;  "that  's 
one  comfort.  So,  sit  down  here  on  my  knee,  my  dear, 
and  hear  to  reason,"  said  he,  laying  hold  on  her 
wrist. 

"  Simon  Legree,  take  care !  "  said  the  woman, 
with  a  sharp  flash  of  her  eye,  a  glance  so  wild  and 
insane  in  its  light  as  to  be  almost  appalling.  "  You 
're  afraid  of  me,  Simon,"  she  said,  deliberately ; 
"  and  you  've  reason  to  be  !  But  be  careful,  for  I  've 
got  the  devil  in  me  !  " 

The  last  words  she  whispered  in  a  hissing  tone, 
close  to  his  ear. 

"  Get  out !  I  believe,  to  my  soul,  you  have  !  " 
said  Legree,  pushing  her  from  him,  and  looking  un- 
comfortably at  her.  "  After  all,  Cassy,"  he  said, 
"  why  can't  you  be  friends  with  me,  as  you  used 
to  ? " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY,  525 

"  Used  to !  "  said  she,  bitterly.  She  stopped 
short, — a  world  of  choking  feelings  rising  in  her 
heart,  kept  her  silent. 

Cassy  had  always  kept  over  Legree  the  kind  of 
influence  that  a  strong,  impassioned  woman  can  ever 
keep  over  the  most  brutal  man ;  but,  of  late,  she  had 
grown  more  and  more  irritable  and  restless,  under 
the  hideous  yoke  of  her  servitude,  and  her  irrita- 
bility, at  times,  broke  out  into  raving  insanity ;  and 
this  liability  made  her  a  sort  of  object  of  dread  to 
Legree,  who  had  that  superstitious  horror  of  insane 
persons  which  is  common  to  coarse  anduninstructed 
minds.  When  Legree  brought  Emmeline  to  the 
house,  all  the  smouldering  embers  of  womanly  feel- 
ing flashed  up  in  the  worn  heart  of  Cassy,  and  she 
took  part  with  the  girl ;  and  a  fierce  quarrel  ensued 
between  her  and  Legree.  Legree,  in  a  fury,  swore 
site  should  be  put  to  field  service,  if  she  would  not 
be  peaceable.  Cassy,  with  proud  scorn,  declared 
she  would  go  to  the  field.  And  she  worked  there 
one  day,  as  we  have  described,  to  show  how  per- 
fectly she  scorned  the  threat. 

Legree  was  secretly  uneasy,  all  day ;  for  Cassy 
had  an  influence  over  him  from  which  he  could  not 
free  himself.  When  she  presented  her  basket  at  the 
scales,  he  had  hoped  for  some  concession,  and  ad- 
dressed her  in  a  sort  of  half  conciliatory,  half  scorn- 
ful tone  ;  and  she  had  answered  with  the  bitterest 
contempt. 

The  outrageous  treatment  of  poor  Tom  had  roused 
her  still  more  ;  and  she  had  followed  Legree  to  the 
house,  with  no  particular  intention,  but  to  upbraid 
him  for  his  brutality. 

"  I  wish,  Cassy,"  said  Legree,  "  you  'd  behave 
yourself  decently." 


526  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

"  You  talk  about  behaving  decently  !  And  what 
have  you  been  doing  ? — you,  who  have  n't  even  sense 
enough  to  keep  from  spoiling  one  of  your  best  hands, 
right  in  the  most  pressing  season,  just  for  your 
devilish  temper  ! " 

"  I  was  a  fool,  it  's  a  fact,  to  let  any  such  brangle 
come  up,"  said  Legree  ;  "  but,  when  the  boy  set  up 
his  will,  he  had  to  be  broke  in." 

"  I  reckon  you  won't  break  him  in  !  " 

"  Won't  I  ?  "  said  Legree,  rising,  passionately. 
*'  I  'd  like  to  know  if  I  won't  ?  He  '11  be  the  first 
nigger  that  ever  came  it  round  me !  I  '11  break 
-every  bone  in  his  body,  but  he  shall  give  up  ! " 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Sambo  entered. 
He  came  forward,  bowing,  and  holding  out  some- 
thing in  a  paper. 

"  What 's  that,  you  dog  ?  "  said  Legree. 

u  It 's  a  witch  thing,  Mas'r  !  " 

*i  A  what  ?  " 

"Something  that  niggers  gets  from  witches. 
Keeps  'em  from  feelin'  when  they  *s  flogged.  He 
had  it  tied  round  his  neck,  with  a  black  string." 

Legree,  like  most  godless  and  cruel  men,  was 
superstitious.  He  took  the  paper,  and  opened  it 
uneasily. 

There  dropped  out  of  it  a  silver  dollar,  and  a  long, 
shining  curl  of  fair  hair, — hair  which,  like  a  living 
thing,  twined  itself  round  Legree's  fingers. 

"  Damnation  !  "  he  screamed,  in  sudden  passion, 
stamping  on  the  floor,  and  pulling  furiously  at  the 
hair,  as  if  it  burned  him.  "  Where  did  this  come 
from  ?  Take  it  off  ! — burn  it  up  ! — burn  it  up  !  " 
he  screamed,  tearing  it  off,  and  throwing  it  into  the 
charcoal.     "  What  did  you  bring  it  to  me  for  ?  " 

Sambo  stood,  with  his  heavy  mouth  wide  open, 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  527 

and  aghast  with  wonder ;  and  Cassy,  who  was  pre- 
paring to  leave  the  apartment,  stopped,  and  looked 
at  him  in  perfect  amazement. 

"  Don't  you  bring  me  any  more  of  your  devilish 
things  ! "  said  he,  shaking  his  fist  at  Sambo,  who 
retreated  hastily  towards  the  door  ;  and,  picking  up 
the  silver  dollar,  he  sent  it  smashing  through  the 
window-pane,  out  into  the  darkness. 

Sambo  was  glad  to  make  his  escape.  When  he 
was  gone,  Legree  seemed  a  little  ashamed  of  his  fit 
of  alarm.  He  sat  doggedly  down  in, his  chair,  and. 
began  sullenly  sipping  his  tumbler  of  punch. 

Cassy  prepared  herself  for  going  out,  unobserved! 
by  him  ;  and  slipped  away  to  minister  to  poor.  Tom,, 
as  we  have  already  related. 

And  what  was  the  matter  with  Legree  ?  and  what 
was  there  in  a  simple  curl  of  fair  hair  to  appall  that 
brutal  man,  familiar  with  every  form  of  cruelty? 
To  answer  this,  we  must  carry  the  reader  backward 
in  his  history.  Hard  and  reprobate  as  the  godless 
man  seemed  now,  there  had  been  a  time  when  he 
had  been  rocked  on  the  bosom  of  a  mother, — 
cradled  with  prayers  and  pious  hymns, — his  now 
seared  brow  bedewed  with  the  waters  of  holy  bap- 
tism. In  early  childhood,  a  fair-haired  woman  had 
led  him,  at  the  sound  of  Sabbath  bell,  to  worship 
and  to  pray.  Far  in  New  England  that  mother  had 
trained  her  only  son,  with  long,  unwearied  love,  and 
patient  prayers.  Born  of  a  hard-tempered  sire,  on 
whom  that  gentle  woman  had  wasted  a  world  of  un- 
valued love,  Legree  had  followed  in  the  steps  of  his 
father.  Boisterous,  unruly,  and  tyrannical,  he  de- 
spised all  her  counsel,  and  would  none  of  her  re- 
proof ;  and,  at  an  early  age,  broke  from  her,  to  seek 
his  fortunes  at  sea.     He  never  came  home  but  once, 


528  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

after  ;  and  then,  his  mother,  with  the  yearning  of  a 
heart  that  must  love  something,  and  has  nothing 
else  to  love,  clung  to  him,  and  sought,  with  passion- 
ate prayers  and  entreaties,  to  win  him  from  a  life  of 
^sin,  to  his  soul's  eternal  good. 

That  was  Legree's  day  of  grace  ;  then  good  angels 
called  him  ;  then  he  was  almost  persuaded,  and 
mercy  held  him  by  the  hand.  His  heart  inly 
relented, — there  was  a  conflict, — but  sin  got  the 
victory,  and  he  set  all  the  force  of  his  rough  nature 
against  the  conviction  of  his  conscience.  He  drank 
and  swore, — was  wilder  and  more  brutal  than  ever. 
And,  one  night,  when  his  mother,  in  the  last  agony 
of  her  despair,  knelt  at  his  feet,  he  spurned  her  from 
him, — threw  her  senseless  on  the  floor,  and,  with 
brutal  curses,  fled  to  his  ship.  The  next  Legree 
heard  of  his  mother  was,  when,  one  night,  as  he  was 
carousing  among  drunken  companions,  a  letter  was 
put  into  his  hand.  He  opened  it,  and  a  lock  of 
long,  curling  hair  fell  from  it,  and  twined  about  his 
fingers.  The  letter  told  him  his  mother  was  dead, 
and  that,  dying,  she  blest  and  forgave  him. 

There  is  a  dread,  unhallowed  necromancy  of  evil, 
that  turns  things  sweetest  and  holiest  to  phantoms 
•of  horror  and  affright.  That  pale,  loving  mother, — 
lier  flying  prayers,  her  forgiving  love, — wrought  in 
that  demoniac  heart  of  sin  only  as  a  damning  sen- 
tence, bringing  with  it  a  fearful  looking  for  of  judg- 
ment and  fiery  indignation.  Legree  burned  the 
hair,  and  burned  the  letter ;  and  when  he  saw  them 
hissing  and  crackling  in  the  flame,  inly  shuddered 
as  he  thought  of  everlasting  fires.  He  tried  to 
drink,  and  revel,  and  swear  away  the  memory  :  but 
often,  in  the  deep  night,  whose  solemn  stillness 
arraigns  the  bad  soul  in  forced  communion    with 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  529 

herself,  he  had  seen  that  pale  mother  rising  by  his 
bedside,  and  felt  the  soft  twining  of  that  hair  around 
his  fingers,  till  the  cold  sweat  would  roll  down  his 
face,  and  he  would  spring  from  his  bed  in  horror. 
Ye  who  have  wondered  to  hear,  in  the  same  evangel, 
that  God  is  love,  and  that  God  is  a  consuming  fire, 
see  ye  not  how,  to  the  soul  resolved  in  evil,  perfect 
love  is  the  most  fearful  torture,  the  seal  and  sentence 
of  the  direst  despair  ? 

"  Blast  it  !  "  said  Legree  to  himself,  as  he  sipped 
his  liquor  ;  "  where  did  he  get  that  ?  If  it  did  n't 
look  just  like — whoo  !  I  thought  I  'd  forgot  that. 
Curse  me,  if  I  think  there  's  any  such  thing  as  for- 
getting  anything,  any  how, — hang  it !  I  'm  lone- 
some !  I  mean  to  call  Em.  She  hates  me — the 
monkey  !     I  don't  care, — I  '11  make  her  come  !  " 

Legree  stepped  out  into  a  large  entry,  which  went 
up  stairs,  by  what  had  formerly  been  a  superb  wind- 
ing stair-case ;  but  the  passage-way  was  dirty  and 
dreary,  encumbered  with  boxes  and  unsightly  litter. 
The  stairs,  uncarpeted,  seemed  winding  up,  in  the 
gloom  to  nobody  knew  where  !  The  pale  moonlight 
streamed  through  a  shattered  fanlight  over  the  door  ; 
the  air  was  unwholesome  and  chilly,  like  that  of  a 
vault. 

Legree  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  heard 
a  voice  singing.  It  seemed  strange  and  ghostlike  in 
that  dreary  old  house,  perhaps  because  of  the  already 
tremulous  state  of  his  nerves.     Hark  !  what  is  it  ? 

A  wild,  pathetic  voice,  chants  a  hymn  common 
among  the  slaves  : 

"  O  there  '11  be  mourning,  mourning,  mourning, 

O  there  '11  be  mourning,  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ  !  " 

"  Blast  the  girl !  "  said  Legree.  "  I'll  choke  her. 
— Em  !     Em  !  "  he  called,  harshly  ;  but  only  a  mock- 


530  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

ing  echo  from  the  walls  answered  him.     The  sweet 
voice  still  sung  on  : 

"  Parents  and  children  there  shall  part  ! 
Parents  and   children  there  shall  part  ! 
Shall  part  to  meet  no  more  !   " 

And  clear  and  loud  swelled  through  the  empty 
halls  the  refrain, 

"  O  there  'U  be  mourning,  mourning,  mourning 
O  there  Jll  be  mourning,  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ ! 

Legree  stopped.  He  would  have  been  ashamed 
to  tell  of  it,  but  large  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  fore- 
head, his  heart  beat  heavy  and  thick  with  fear  ;  he 
even  thought  he  saw  something  white  rising  and 
glimmering  in  the  gloom  before  him,  and  shuddered 
to  think  what  if  the  form  of  his  dead  mother  should 
suddenly  appear  to  him. 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
stumbled  back  in  the  sitting-room,  and  sat  down ; 
"  I  '11  let  that  fellow  alone,  after  this !  What  did  I 
want  of  his  cussed  paper  ?  I  b'lieve  I  am  bewitched, 
sure  enough  !  I  Ve  been  shivering  and  sweating, 
ever  since  !  Where  did  he  get  that  hair  ?  It  could 
n't  have  been  that !  I  burnt  that  up,  I  know  I  did  ! 
It  would  be  a  joke,  if  hair  could  rise  from  the  dead  !  " 

Ah,  Legree  !  that  golden  tress  was  charmed  ;  each 
hair  had  in  it  a  spell  of  terror  and  remorse  for  thee, 
and  was  used  by  a  mightier  power  to  bind  thy  cruel 
hands  from  inflicting  uttermost  evil  on  the  helpless  ! 

"  I  say,"  said  Legree,  stamping  and  whistling  to 
the  dogs,  "  wake  up,  some  of  you,  and  keep  me  com- 
pany !  "  but  the  dogs  only  opened  one  eye  at  him, 
sleepily,  and  closed  it  again. 

"  I  '11  have  Sambo  and  Quimbo  up  here,  to  sing 
and  dance  one  of  their  hell  dances,  and  keep  off 
these  horrid  notions,"  said  Legree  ;  and,  putting  on 


LIFE    AMCNG    THE    LOWLY.  53  Z 

his  hat,  he  went  on  to  the  verandah,  and  blew  a  horn? 
with  which  he  commonly  summoned  his  two  sable 
drivers. 

Legree  was  often  wont,  when  in  a  gracious  humorr 
to  get  these  two  worthies  into  his  sitting-room,  and, 
after  warming  them  up  with  whiskey,  amuse  himself 
by  setting  them  to  singing,  dancing  or  fighting,  as 
the  humor  took  him. 

It  was  between  one  and  two  o'clock  at  night,  as 
Cassy  was  returning  from  her  ministrations  to  poor 
Tom,  that  she  heard  the  sound  of  wild  shrieking, 
whooping,  halloing,  and  singing,  from  the  sitting- 
room,  mingled  with  the  barking  of  dogs,  and  other 
symptoms  of  general  uproar. 

She  came  up  on  the  verandah  steps,  and  looked 
in.  Legree  and  both  the  drivers,  in  a  state  of  furi- 
ous intoxication,  were  singing,  whooping,  upsetting 
chairs,  and  making  all  manner  of  ludicrous  and 
horrid  grimaces  at  each  other. 

She  rested  her  small,  slender  hand  on  the  window- 
blind,  and  looked  fixedly  at  them; — there  was  a 
world  of  anguish,  scorn,  and  fierce  bitterness,  in  her 
black  eyes,  as  she  did  so.  "  Would  it  be  a  sin  to  rid 
the  world  of  such  a  wretch  ? "  she   said   to  herself. 

She  turned  hurriedly  away,  and,  passing  round  to 
a  back  door,  glided  up  stairs,  and  tapped  at  Emme- 
line's  door. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

EMMELINE      AND      CASSY. 

Cassy  entered  the  room,  and  found  Emmeline 
sitting,  pale  with  fear,  in  the  furthest  corner  of  it. 
As  she  came  in,  the  girl  started  up  nervously  ;  but, 
on  seeing  who  it  was,  rushed  forward,  and  catching 


532  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

fier  arm,  said,  "  O,  Cassy,  is  it  you  ?  I'm  so  glad 
you  've  come  !  I  was  afraid  it  was — .  O,  you 
don't  know  what  a  horrid  noise  there  has  been, 
•down  stairs,  all  this  evening  !  " 

"  I  ought  to  know,"  said  Cassy,  dryly.  "  I  've 
heard  it  often  enough." 

"  O  Cassy  !  do  tell  me, — could  n't  we  get  away 
from  this  place  ?  I  don't  care  where, — into  the 
swamp  among  the  snakes, — anywhere  !  Could  nt 
•we  get  somewhere  away  from  here  ?  " 

"  Nowhere,  but  into  our  graves,"  said  Cassy. 

"  Did  you  ever  try  ?  " 

"  I  've  seen  enough  of  trying,  and  what  comes  of 
it,"  said  Cassy. 

"  I  'd  be  willing  to  live  in  the  swamps,  and  gnaw 
the  bark  from  trees.  I  an't  afraid  of  snakes  !  I  'd 
rather  have  one  near  me  than  him,"  said  Emmeline, 
•eagerly.  •  \ 

"  There  have  been  a  good  many  here  of  your  opin- 
ion," said  Cassy;  "but  you  couldn't  stay  in  the 
swamps, — you  'd  be  tracked  by  the  dogs,  and 
brought  back,  and  then — then — " 

"  What  would  he  do  ? "  said  the  girl,  looking, 
with  breathless  interest,  into  her  face. 

"  What  would  n't  he  do,  you'd  better  ask,"  said 
Cassy.  "He's  learned  his  trade  well,  among  the 
pirates  in  the  West  Indies.  You  wouldn't  sleep 
much,  if  I  should  tell  you  things  I  've  seen, — things 
that  he  tells  of,  sometimes,  for  good  jokes.  I've 
heard  screams  here  that  I  have  n't  been  able  to  get 
-out  of  my  head  for  weeks  and  weeks.  There  's  a 
place  way  out  down  by  the  quarters,  where  you  can 
see  a  black,  blasted  tree,  and  the  ground  all  covered 
with  black  ashes.  Ask  any  one  what  was  done  there, 
and  see  if  they  will  dare  to  tell  you." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  533 

*■  O  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  won't  tell  you.  I  hate  to  think  of  it.  And  I 
tell  you,  the  Lord  only  knows  what  we  may  see  to- 
morrow, if  that  poor  fellow  holds  out  as  he  's  be- 
gun." 

"  Horrid  !  "  said  Emmeline,  every  drop  of  blood 
receding  from  her  cheeks.  "  O,  Cassy,  do  tell  me 
what  I  shall  do  !  " 

"  What  I'  ve  done.  Do  the  best  you  can, — do  what 
you  must, — and  make  it  up  in  hating  and  cursing." 

"  He  wanted  to  make  me  drink  some  of  his  hate- 
ful brandy,"  said   Emmeline  ;  "  and  I  hate  it  so — " 

"  You  'd  better  drink,"  said  Cassy.  "  I  hated  it, 
too ;  and  now  I  can't  live  without  it.  One  must 
have  something; — things  don't  look  so  dreadful, 
when  you  take  that." 

"  Mother  used  to  tell  me  never  to  touch  any  such 
thing,"  said  Emmeline. 

"  Mother  told  you  !  "  said  Cassy,  with  a  thrilling 
and  bitter  emphasis  on  the  word  mother.  "  What 
use  is  it  for  mothers  to  say  anything  ?  You  are  all 
to  be  bought  and  paid  for,  and  your  souls  belong  to 
whoever  gets  you.  That 's  the  way  it  goes.  I  say, 
drink  brandy  ;  drink  all  you  can,  and  it  '11  make 
things  come  easier." 

"  O,  Cassy  !  do  pity  me  !  " 

"  Pity  you  ! — don't  I  ?  Have  n't  I  a  daughter, — 
Lord  knows  where  she  is,  and  whose  she  is,  now, — 
going  the  way  her  mother  went,  before  her,  I  sup- 
pose, and  that  her  children  must  go,  after  her ! 
There  's  no  end  to  the  curse — forever  !  " 

"I  wish  I'd  never  been  born!  "  said  Emmeline, 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  That 's  an  old  wish  with  me,"  said  Cassy.  "  I  've 
got  used  to  wishing  that.     I  'd  die,  if  I  dared  to," 


534  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

she  said,  looking  out  into  the  darkness,  with  that 
still,  fixed  despair  which  was  the  habitual  expression 
of  her  face  when  at  rest. 

"  It  would  be  wicked  to  kill  one's  self,"  said 
Emmeline. 

"  I  don't  know  why, — no  wickeder  than  things  we 
live  and  do,  day  after  day.  But  the  sisters  told  me 
things,  when  I  was  in  the  convent,  that  make  me 
afraid  to  die.  If  it  would  only. be  the  end  of  us, 
why,,  then— 1"  .         : 

Emmeline  turned  away,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

While  this  conversation  was  passing  in  the  cham- 
ber, Legree,  overcome  with  his  carouse,  had  sank 
to  sleep  in  the  room  below.  Legree  was  not  an 
habitual  drunkard.  His  coarse,  strong  nature 
craved,  and  could  endure,  a  continual  stimulation, 
that  would  have  utterly  wrecked  and  crazed  a  finer 
one.  But  a  deep,  underlying  spirit  of  cautiousness 
prevented  his  often  yielding  to  appetite  in  such 
measure  as  to  lose  control  of  himself. 

This  night,  however,  in  his  feverish  efforts  to 
banish  from  his  mind  those  fearful  elements  of  woe 
and  remorse  which  woke  within  him,  he  had  indulged 
more  than  common  ;  so  that,  when  he  had  discharged 
his  sable  attendants,  he  fell  heavily  on  a  settle  in 
the  room,  and  was  sound  asleep. 

O  !  how  dares  the  bad  soul  to  enter  the  shadowy 
world  of  sleep  ? — that  land  whose  dim  outlines  lie 
so  fearfully  near  to  the  mystic  scene  of  retribution  ! 
Legree  dreamed.  In  his  heavy  and  feverish  sleep, 
a  veiled  form  stood  beside  him,  and  laid  a  cold, 
soft  hand  upon  him.  He  thought  he  knew  who  it 
was  ;  and  shuddered,  with  creeping  horror,  though 
the  face  was  veiled.     Then  he   thought  he  felt  that 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  535 

hair  twining  round  his  fingers  ;  and  then,  that  it 
slid  smoothly  round  his  neck,  and  tightened  and 
tightened,  and  he  could  not  draw  his  breath  ;  and 
then  he  thought  voices  whispered  to  him, — whispers 
that  chilled  him  with  horror.  Then  it  seemed  to 
him  he  was  on  the  edge  of  a  frightful  abyss,  hold- 
ing on  and  struggling  in  mortal  fear,  while  dark 
hands  stretched  up,  and  were  pulling  him  over ;  and 
Cassy  came  behind  him  laughing,  and  pushed  him. 
And  then  rose  up  that  solemn  veiled  figure,  and 
drew  aside  the  veil.  -It  was  his  mother  ;  and  she 
turned  away  from  him,  and  he  fell  down,  down, 
down,  amid  a  confused  noise  of  shrieks,  and  groans, 
and  shouts  of  demon  laughter, — and  Legree  awoke. 

Calmly  the  rosy  hue  of  dawn  was  stealing  into 
the  room.  The  morning  star  stood,  with  its  solemn, 
holy  eye  of  light,  looking  down  on  the  man  of  sin, 
from  out  the  brightening  sky.  O,  with  what  fresh- 
ness, what  solemnity  and  beauty,  is  each  new  day 
born  ;  as  if  to  say  to  insensate  man,  "  Behold  !  thou 
hast  one  more  chance  !  Strive  for  immortal  glory  ! "' 
There  is  no  speech  nor  language  where  this  voice  is 
not  heard;  but  the  bold,  bad  man  heard  it  not. 
He  woke  with  an  oath  and  a  curse.  What  to  him 
was  the  gold  and  purple,  the  daily  miracle  of  morn- 
ing !  What  to  him  the  sanctity  of  that  star  which 
the  Son  of  God  has  hallowed  as  his  own  emblem  ? 
Brute-like,  he  saw  without  perceiving  ;  and,  stum- 
bling forward,  poured  out  a  tumbler  of  brandy,  and 
drank  half  of  it. 

"I  've  had  a  h — 1  of  a  night !  "  he  said  to  Cassy, 
who  just  then  entered  from  an  opposite  door. 

"  You'll  get  plenty  of  the  same  sort,  by  and  by," 
said  she,  dryly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  minx?  " 


536  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OKr 

"  You  '11  find  out,  one  of  these  days,""  returned 
Cassy,  in  the  same  tone.  "  Now,  Simon,  I've  one 
piece  of  advice  to  give  you." 

"  The  devil,  you  have  !  " 

"  My  advice  is,"  said  Cassy,  steadily,  as  she  be- 
gan adjusting  some  things  about  the  room,  "  that 
you  let  Tom  alone." 

"  What  business  is  't  of  yours  ?  " 

"  What  ?  To  be  sure,  I  don't  know  what  it  should 
be.  If  you  want  to  pay  twelve  hundred  for  a  fel- 
low, and  use  him  right  up  in  the  press  of  the  season,, 
just  to  serve  your  own  spite,  it 's  no  business  of  mine. 
I  've  done  what  I  could  for  him." 

"  You  have  ?  What  business  have  you  meddling; 
in  my  matters  ?  " 

"  None,  to  be  sure.  I  've  saved  you  some  thou- 
sands of  dollars,  at  different  times,  by  taking  care  of 
your  hands, — that 's  all  the  thanks  I  get.  If  your 
crop  comes  shorter  into  market  than  any  of  theirsr 
you  won't  lose  your  bet,  I  suppose  ?  Tompkins 
won't  lord  it  over  you,  I  suppose, — and  you  '11  pay 
down  your  money  like  a  lady,  won't  you  ?  I  think 
I  see  you  doing  it !  " 

Legree,  like  many  other  planters,  had  but  one 
form  of  ambition, — to  have  in  the  heaviest  crop  of 
the  season, — and  he  had  several  bets  on  this  very 
present  season  pending  in  the  next  town.  Cassy, 
therefore,  with  woman's  tact,  touched  the  only  string 
that  could  be  made  to  vibrate. 

"  Well,  I  '11  let  him  off  at  what  he 's  got,"  said  Le- 
gree ;  "  but  he  shall  beg  my  pardon,  and  promise 
better  fashions." 

"  That  he  won't  do,"  said  Cassy. 

«  Won't,— eh  ? " 

"  No,  he  won't,"  said  Cassy. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  537 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  why,  Mistress,"  said  Legree,. 
in  the  extreme  of  scorn. 

"  Because  he 's  done  right,  and  he  knows  it,  and. 
won't  say  he  's  done  wrong." 

"  Who  a  cuss  cares  what  he  knows  ?  The  nigger 
shall  say  what  I  please,  or — " 

"  Or,  you  '11  lose  your  bet  on  the  cotton  crop,  by 
keeping  him  out  of  the  field,  just  at  this  very 
press." 

"  But  he  will  give  up, — course,  he  will ;  don't  I 
know  what  niggers  is  ?  He  '11  beg  like  a  dog,  this 
morning." 

"  He  won't,  Simon ;  you  don't  know  this  kind. 
You  may  kill  him  by  inches, — you  won't  get  the  first 
word  of  confession  out  of  him." 

"  We  '11  see  ; — where  is  he  ?  "  said  Legree,  going 
out. 

"  In  the  waste-room  of  the  gin-house,"  said 
Cassy. 

Legree,  though  he  talked  so  stoutly  to  Cassy, 
still  sallied  forth  from  the  house  with  a  degree  of 
misgiving  which  was  not  common  with  him.  His 
dreams  of  the  past  night,  mingled  with  Cassy's  pru- 
dential suggestions,  considerably  affected  his  mind. 
He  resolved  that  nobody  should  be  witness  of  his 
encounter  with  Tom  ;  and  determined,  if  he  could 
not  subdue  him  by  bullying,  to  defer  his  vengeance, 
to  be  wreaked  in  a  more  convenient  season. 

The  solemn  light  of  dawn — the  angelic  glory  of 
the  morning-star — had  looked  in  through  the  rude 
window  of  the  shed  where  Tom  was  lying ;  and,  as 
if  descending  on  that  star-beam,  came  the  solemn 
words,  "  I  am  the  root  and  offspring  of  David,  and 
the  bright  and  morning  star."  The  mysterious 
warnings  and  intimations  of  Cassy,  so  far  from  dis- 


538  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

couraging  his  soul,  in  the  end  had  roused  it  as  with 
a  heavenly  call.  He  did  not  know  but  that  the  day 
of  his  death  was  dawning  in  the  sky ;  and  his  heart 
throbbed  with  solemn  throes  of  joy  and  desire,  as 
he  thought  that  the  wondrous  all,  of  which  he  had 
often  pondered, — the  great  white  throne,  with  its 
ever  radiant  rainbow ;  the  white-robed  multitude, 
with  voices  as  many  waters ;  the  crowns,  the  palms, 
the  harps, — might  all  break  upon  his  vision  before 
that  sun  should  set  again.  And,  therefore,  without 
shuddering  or  trembling,  he  heard  the  voice  of  his 
persecutor,  as  he  drew  near. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Legree,  with  a  contemp- 
tuous kick,  "how  do  you  find  yourself?  Didn't  I 
tell  yer  I  could  larn  yer  a  thing  or  two  ?  How  do 
yer  like  it, — eh  ?  How  did  yer  whaling  agree  with 
yer,  Tom  ?  An't  quite  so  crank  as  ye  was  last 
night.  Ye  could  n't  treat  a  poor  sinner,  now,  to  a 
bit  of  a  sermon,  could  ye, — eh  ?  " 

Tom  answered  nothing. 

"  Get  up,  you  beast !  "  said  Legree,  kicking  him 
again. 

This  was  a  difficult  matter  for  one  so  bruised  and 
faint;  and,  as  Tom  made  efforts  to  do  so,  Legree 
laughed  brutally. 

"  What  makes  ye  so  spry,  this  morning,  Tom  ? 
Cotched  cold,  may  be,  last  night." 

Tom  by  this  time  had  gained  his  feet,  and  was 
confronting  his  master  with  a  steady,  unmoved 
front. 

"  The  devil,  you  can  !  "  said  Legree,  looking  him 
over.  "  I  believe  you  have  n't  got  enough  yet. 
Now,  Tom,  get  right  down  on  yer  knees  and  beg 
my  pardon,  for  yer  shines  last  night." 

Tom  did  not  move. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  539 

"  Down,  you  dog  ! "  said  Legree,  striking  him 
with  his  riding-whip. 

"  Mas'r  Legree,"  said  Tom,  "  I  can't  do  it.  I  did 
only  what  I  thought  was  right.  I  shall  do  just  so 
again,  if  ever  the  time  comes.  I  never  will  do  a 
cruel  thing,  come  what  may." 

"  Yes,  but  ye  don't  know  what  may  come,  Master 
Tom.  Ye  think  what  you  've  got  is  something.  I 
tell  you  't  an't  anything, — nothing  't  all.  How  would 
ye  like  to  be  tied  to  a  tree,  and  have  a  slow  fire  lit 
up  aroumd  ye ;  — would  n't  that  be  pleasant, — eh, 
Tom  ?  " 

"  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "  I  know  ye  can  do  dreadful 
things ;  but," — he  stretched  himself  upward  and 
clasped  his  hands, — "  but,  after  ye  've  killed  the 
body,  there  an't  no  more  ye  can  do.  And  O,  there  's 
all  eternity  to  come,  after  that !  " 

Eternity, — the  word  thrilled  through  the  black 
man's  soul  with  light  and  power,  as  he  spoke  ;  it 
thrilled  through  the  sinner's  soul,  too,  like  the  bite 
of  a  scorpion.  Legree  gnashed  on  him  with  his 
teeth,  but  rage  kept  him  silent ;  and  Tom,  like  a  man 
disenthralled,  spoke,  in  a  clear  and  cheerful  voice, 

"  Mas'r  Legree,  as  ye  bought  me,  I  '11  be  a  true  and 
faithful  servant  to  ye.  I  '11  give  ye  all  the  work  of  my 
hands,  all  my  time,  all  my  strength  ;  but  my  soul  I 
won't  give  up  to  mortal  man.  I  will  hold  on  to  the 
Lord,  and  put  his  commands  before  all, — die  or  live  ; 
you  may  be  sure  on  't.  Mas'r  Legree,  I  an't  a  grain 
afeard  to  die.  I  'd  as  soon  die  as  not.  Ye  may 
whip  me,  starve  me,  burn  me, — it  '11  only  send  me 
sooner  where  I  want  to  go." 

"  I  '11  make  ye  give  out,  though,  'fore  I  've  done  !  " 
said  Legree,  in  a  rage. 

"  I  shall  have  help"  said  Tom ;  "  you  '11  never  do 
It." 

36 


54°  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Who  the  devil 's  going  to  help  you  ?  "  said 
Legree,  scornfully. 

"  The  Lord  Almighty,"  said  Tom. 

"  D — n  you !  "  said  Legree,  as  with  one  blow  of 
his  fist  he  felled  Tom  to  the  earth. 

A  cold  soft  hand  fell  on  Legree's,  at  this  moment. 
He  turned, — it  was  Cassy's  ;  but  the  cold  soft  touch 
recalled  his  dream  of  the  night  before,  and,  flashing 
through  the  chambers  of  his  brain,  came  all  the 
fearful  images  of  the  night-watches,  with  a  portion 
of  the  horror  that  accompanied  them. 

"  Will  you  be  a  fool  ? "  said  Cassy,  in  French. 
"  Let  him  go  !  Let  me  alone  to  get  him  fit  to  be  in 
the  field  again.     Is  n't  it  just  as  I  told  you  ?  " 

They  say  the  alligator,  the  rhinoceros,  though  en- 
closed in  bullet-proof  mail,  have  each  a  spot  where 
they  are  vulnerable  ;  and  fierce,  reckless,  unbeliev- 
ing reprobates  have  commonly  this  point  in  super- 
stitious dread. 

Legree  turned  away,  determined  to  let  the  point 
go  for  the  time. 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said,  doggedly, 
to  Cassy. 

"  Hark,  ye  !  "  he  said  to  Tom  ;  "  I  won't  deal  with 
ye  now,  because  the  business  is  pressing,  and  I 
want  all  my  hands  ;  but  I  never  forget.  I  '11  score  it 
against  ye,  and  sometime  I  '11  have  my  pay  out  o? 
yer  old  black  hide, — mind  ye  !  " 

Legree  turned,  and  went  out. 

"  There  you  go,"  said  Cassy,  looking  darkly  after 
him  ;  "  your  reckoning  's  to  come,  yet ! — My  poor 
fellow,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  God  hath  sent  his  angel,  and  shut  the 
lion's  mouth,  for  this  time,"  said  Tom. 

"  For  this  time,  to  be  sure,"  said  Cassy ;  "  but 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  541 

now  you  Ve  got  his  ill  will  upon  you,  to  follow  you 
day  in,  day  out,  hanging  like  a  dog  on  your  throat, — 
sucking  your  blood,  bleeding  away  your  life,  drop 
by  drop.     I  know  the  man." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LIBERTY. 

"  No  matter  with  what  solemnities  he  may  have  been  devoted  upon  the 
altar  of  slavery,  the  moment  he  touches  the  sacred  soil  of  Britain,  the  altar 
and  the  God  sink  together  in  the  dust,  and  he  stands  redeemed,  regenerated, 
and  disenthralled,  by  the  irresistible  genius  of  universal  emancipation." — 
Cur ran. 

A  while  we  must  leave  Tom  in  the  hands  of  his 
persecutors,  while  we  turn  to  pursue  the  fortunes  of 
George  and  his  wife,  whom  we  left  in  friendly  hands, 
in  a  farm-house  on  the  road-side. 

Tom  Loker  we  left  groaning  and  touzling  in  a 
most  immaculately  clean  Quaker  bed,  under  the 
motherly  supervision  of  Aunt  Dorcas,  who  found 
him  to  the  full  as  tractable  a  patient  as  a  sick  bison. 

Imagine  a  tall,  dignified,  spiritual  woman,  whose 
clear  muslin  cap  shades  waves  of  silvery  hair,  parted 
on  a  broad,  clear  forehead,  which  overarches 
thoughtful  gray  eyes.  A  snowy  handkerchief  of 
lisse  crape  is  folded  neatly  across  her  bosom  ;  her 
glossy  brown  silk  dress  rustles  peacefully,  as  she 
glides  up  and  down  the  chamber. 

"  The  devil !  "  says  Tom  Loker,  giving  a  great 
throw  to  the  bed-clothes. 

"  I  must  request  thee,  Thomas,  not  to  use  such 
language,"  says  Aunt  Dorcas,  as  she  quietly  re- 
arranged the  bed. 

"  Well,  I  won't,  granny,  if  I  can  help  it,"  says 
Tom  ;  "  but  it  is  enough  to  make  a  fellow  swear, — ' 
so  cursedly  hot !  " 


542  .     UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

Dorcas  removed  a  comforter  from  the  bed, 
straightened  the  clothes  again,  and  tucked  them  in 
till  Tom  looked  something  like  a  chrysalis ;  remark- 
ing, as  she  did  so, 

"  I  wish,  friend,  thee  would  leave  off  cursing  and 
swearing,  and  think  upon  thy  ways." 

"What  the  devil,"  said  Tom,  "  should  I  think  of 
them  for  ?     Last  thing  ever  /want  to  think  of — hang  | 
it  all ! "     And  Tom  flounced  over,  untucking  and 
disarranging  everything,  in  a  manner  frightful  to  be- 
hold. 

"  That  fellow  and  gal  are  here,  I  'spose,"  said  he, 
sullenly,  after  a  pause. 

"  They  are  so,"  said  Dorcas. 

"  They  'd  better  be  off  up  to  the  lake,"  said  Tom  ; 
"  the  quicker  the  better." 

"  Probably  they  will  do  so,"  said  Aunt  Dorcas, 
knitting  peacefully. 

"  And  hark  ye,"  said  Tom  ;  "  we  've  got  corre- 
spondents in  Sandusky,  that  watch  the  boats  for  us. 
I  don't  care  if  I  tell,  now.  I  hope  they  will  get 
away,  just  to  spite  Marks, — the  cursed  puppy ! — 
d— n  him  ! "        " 

"  Thomas  !  "  said  Dorcas. 

"  I  tell  you,  granny,  if  you  bottle  a  fellow  up  too 
tight,  I  shall  split,"  said  Tom.  "  But  about  the  gal, 
■ — tell  'em  to  dress  her  up  some  way,  so  's  to  alter 
her.     Her  description  's  out  in  Sandusky." 

"  We  will  attend  to  that  matter,"  said  Dorcas,  with 
characteristic  composure. 

As  we  at  this  place  take  leave  of  Tom  Loker,  we 
may  as  well  say,  that,  having  lain  three  weeks  at  the 
Quaker  dwelling,  sick  with  rheumatic  fever,  which 
set  in,  in  company  with  his  other  afflictions,  Tom 
arose  from  his  bed   a  somewhat  sadder  and  wiser 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  543 

man  •  and,  in  place  of  slave-catching,  betook  himself 
to  life  in  one  of  the  new  settlements,  where  his  tal- 
ents developed  themselves  more  happily  in  trapping 
bears,  wolves,  and  other  inhabitants  of  the  forest,  in 
which  he  made  himself  quite  a  name  in  the  land. 
Tom  always  spoke  reverently  of  the  Quakers.  "  Nice 
'  people,"  he  would  say;  "wanted  to  convert  me,  but 
could  n't  come  it,  exactly.  But,  tell  ye  what, 
stranger,  they  do  fix  up  a  sick  fellow  first  rate, — no 
mistake.  Make  jist  the  tallest  kind  o'  broth  and 
knicknacks." 

As  Tom  had  informed  them  that  their  party  would 
be  looked  for  in  Sandusky,  it  was  thought  prudent 
to  divide  them.  Jim,  with  his  old  mother,  was  for- 
warded separately ;  and  a  night  or  two  after,  George 
and  Eliza,  with  their  child,  were  driven  privately 
into  Sandusky,  and  lodged  beneath  a  hospitable 
roof,  preparatory  to  taking  their  last  passage  on  the 
lake. 

Their  night  was  now  far  spent,  and  the  morning 
star  of  liberty  rose  fair  before  them.  Liberty ! — 
electric  word  !  What  is  it  ?  Is  there  anything  more 
in  it  than  a  name — a  rhetorical  flourish  ?  Why,  men 
and  women  of  America,  does  your  heart's  blood 
thrill  at  that  word,  for  which  your  fathers  bled,  and 
j  your  braver  mothers  were  willing  that  their  noblest 
and  best  should  die  ? 

Is  there  anything  in  it  glorious  and  dear  for  a 
nation,  that  is  not  also  glorious  and  dear  for  a  man  ? 
What  is  freedom  to  a  nation,  but  freedom  to  the  in- 
dividuals in  it  ?  What  is  freedom  to  that  young 
man,  who  sits  there,  with  his  arms  folded  over  his 
broad  chest,  the  tint  of  African  blood  in  his  cheek, 
its  dark  fires  in  his  eye, — what  is  freedom  to  George 
Harris  ?     To  your  fathers,  freedom  was  the   right  of 


544  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

a  nation  to  be  a  nation.  To  him,  it  is  the  right  of 
a  man  to  be  a  man,  and  not  a  brute  ;  the  right  to 
•call  the  wife  of  his  bosom  his  wife,  and  to  protect 
her  from  lawless  violence  ;  the  right  to  protect  and 
educate  his  child  ;  the  right  to  have  a  home  of  his 
own,  a  religion  of  his  own,  a  character  of  his  own, 
Tinsubject  to  the  will  of  another.  All  these  thoughts 
were  rolling  and  seething  in  George's  breast,  as  he 
was  pensively  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand,  watch- 
ing his  wife,  as  she  was  adapting  to  her  slender  and 
pretty  form  the  articles  of  man's  attire,  in  which  it 
was  deemed  safest  she  should  make  her  escape. 

"  Now  for  it,"  said  she,  as  she  stood  before  the  glass, 
and  shook  down  her  silky  abundance  of  black  curly 
hair.  "  I  say,  George,  it 's  almost  a  pity,  is  n't  it," 
she  said,  as  she  held  up  some  of  it,  playfully, — "  pity 
it  's  all  got  to  come  off  ?  " 

George  smiled  sadly,  and  made  no  answer. 

Eliza  turned  to  the  glass,  and  the  scissors  glittered 
as  one  long  lock  after  another  was  detached  from 
her  head. 

"  There,  now,  that  '11  do,"  she  said,  taking  up  a 
hair-brush ;  "  now  for  a  few  fancy  touches." 

"  There,  an't  I  a  pretty  young  fellow  ?  "  she  said, 
turning  around  to  her  husband,  laughing  and  blush- 
ing at  the  same  time. 

"  You  always  will  be  pretty,  do  what  you  will," 
said  George. 

"  What  does  make  you  so  sober  ? "  said  Eliza, 
kneeling  on  one  knee,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his. 
"We  are  only  within  twenty-four  hours  of  Canada, 
they  say.  Only  a  day  and  a  night  on  the  lake,  and 
then — oh,  then  ! — " 

"  O,  Eliza !  "  said  George,  drawing  her  towards 
him  ;  "  that  is  it !     Now  my  fate   is  all  narrowing 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  545 

down  to  a  point.  To  come  so  near,  to  be  almost  in 
sight,  and  then  lose  all.  I  should  never  live  under 
it,  Eliza." 

"  Don't  fear,"  said  his  wife,  hopefully.  "  The 
good  Lord  would  not  have  brought  us  so  far,  if  he 
did  n't  mean  to  carry  us  through.  I  seem  to  feel 
him  with  us,  George." 

"  You  are  a  blessed  woman,  Eliza  !  "  said  George, 
clasping  her  with  a  convulsive  grasp.  "  But, — oh, 
tell  me  !  can  this  great  mercy  be  for  us  ?  Will  these 
years  and  years  of  misery  come  to  an  end  ? — shall 
we  be  free  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  George,"  said  Eliza,  looking  up- 
ward, while  tears  of  hope  and  enthusiasm  shone  on 
her  long,  dark  lashes.  "  I  feel  it  in  me,  that  God  is 
going  to  bring  us  out  of  bondage,  this  very  day." 

"  I  will  believe  you,  Eliza,"  said  George,  rising 
suddenly  up.  "  I  will  believe, — come,  let 's  be  off. 
Well,  indeed,"  said  he,  holding  her  off  at  arm's 
length,  and  looking  admiringly  at  her,  "  you  are  a 
pretty  little  fellow.  That  crop  of  little,  short  curls, 
is  quite  becoming.  Put  on  your  cap.  So — a  little 
to  one  side.  I  never  saw  you  look  quite  so  pretty. 
But,  it 's  almost  time  for  the  carriage  ; — I  wonder  if 
Mrs.  Smyth  has  got  Harry  rigged  ?  " 

The  door  opened,  and  a  respectable,  middle-aged 
woman  entered,  leading  little  Harry,  dressed  in 
girl's  clothes. 

"  What  a  pretty  girl  he  makes,"  said  Eliza,  turn- 
ing him  round.  "  We  call  him  Harriet,  you  see  ; — 
don't  the  name  come  nicely  ?  " 

The  child  stood  gravely  regarding  his  mother  in 
her  new  and  strange  attire,  observing  a  profound 
silence,  and  occasionally  drawing  deep  sighs,  and 
peeping  at  her  from  under  his  dark  curls. 


546  UNCLE  tom's   CARTN  :   OR, 

"  Does  Harry  know  mamma  ?  "  said  Eliza,  stretch- 
ing her  hands  toward  him. 

The  child  clung  shyly  to  the  woman. 

"  Come,  Eliza,  why  do  you  try  to  coax  him,  when 
you  know  that  he  has  got  to  be  kept  away  from  you  ? '? 

"I  know  it's  foolish,"  said  Eliza;  "yet  I  can't 
bear  to  have  him  turn  away  from  me.  But  come, — 
where  's  my  cloak  ?  Here, — how  is  it  men  put  on 
cloaks,  George  ? " 

"  You  must  wear  it  so,"  said  her  husband,  throw- 
ing it  over  his  shoulders. 

"  So,  then,"  said  Eliza,  imitating  the  motion, — 
"  and  I  must  stamp,  and  take  long  steps,  and  try 
to  look  saucy." 

"  Don't  exert  yourself,"  said  George.  "  There  is, 
now  and  then,  a  modest  young  man ;  and  I  think  it 
would  be  easier  for  you  to  act  that  character." 

"And  these  gloves  !  mercy  upon  us  !  "  said  Eliza  ; 
"  why,  my  hands  are  lost  in  them." 

"  I  advise  you  to  keep  them  on  pretty  strictly,'* 
said  George.  "Your  little  slender  paw  might  bring 
us  all  out.  Now,  Mrs.  Smyth,  you  are  to  go  under 
our  charge,  and  be  our  aunty, — you  mind." 

"  I  Ve  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Smyth,  "  that  there  have 
been  men  down,  warning  all  the  packet  captains 
against  a  man  and  woman,  with  a  little  boy." 

"  They  have !  "  said  George.  "  Well,  if  we  see 
any  such  people,  we  can  tell  them." 

A  hack  now  drove  to  the  door,  and  the  friendly- 
family  who  had  received  the  fugitives  crowded 
around  them  with  farewell  greetings. 

The  disguises  the  party  had  assumed  were  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  hints  of  Tom  Loker.  Mrs.  Smyth, 
a  respectable  woman  from  the  settlement  in  Canada, 
whither  they  were  fleeing,  being  fortunately  about 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  547- 

crossing  the  lake  to  return  thither,  had  consented  to- 
appear  as  the  aunt  of  little  Harry  ;  and,  in  order 
to  attach  him  to  her.  he  had  been  allowed  to  remain 
the  two  last  days,  under  her  sole  charge ;  and  an 
extra  amount  of  petting,  joined  to  an  indefinite 
amount  of  seed-cakes  and  candy,  had  cemented  a 
very  close  attachment  on  the  part  of  the  young 
gentleman. 

The  hack  drove  to  the  wharf.  The  two  young- 
men,  as  they  appeared,  walked  up  the  plank  into 
the  boat,  Eliza  gallantly  giving  her  arm  to  Mrs.. 
Symth,  and  George  attending  to  their  baggage. 

George  was  standing  at  the  captain's  office,  set- 
tling for  his  party,  when  he  overheard  two  men  talk- 
ing by  his  side. 

"  I  've  watched  every  one  that  came  on  board,"' 
said  one,  "  and  I  know  they  're  not  on  this  boat." 

The  voice  was  that  of  the  clerk  of  the  boat.  The 
speaker  whom  he  addressed  was  our  sometime- 
friend  Marks,  who,  with  that  valuable  perseverance- 
which  characterized  him,  had  come  on  to  Sandusky, 
seeking  whom  he  might  devour. 

"  You  would  scarcely  know  the  woman  from  a. 
white  woman,"  said  Marks.  "  The  man  is  a  very 
light  mulatto  ;  he  has  a  brand  in  one  of  his  hands." 

The  hand  with  which  George  was  taking  the- 
tickets  and  change  trembled  a  little  ;  but  he  turned 
coolly  around,  fixed  an  unconcerned  glance  on  the 
face  of  the  speaker,  and  walked  leisurely  toward 
another  part  of  the  boat,  where  Eliza  stood  waiting 
for  him. 

Mrs.  Smyth,  with  little  Harry,  sought  the  seclu- 
sion of  the  ladies'  cabin,  where  the  dark  beauty  of 
the  supposed  little  girl  drew  many  flattering  com- 
ments from  the  passengers. 


548  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

George  had  the  satisfaction,  as  the  bell  rang  out 
its  farewell  peal,  to  see  Marks  walk  down  the  plank 
to  the  shore  ;  and  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  when 
the  boat  had  put  a  returnless  distance  between 
them. 

It  was  a  superb  day.  The  blue  waves  of  Lake 
Erie  danced,  rippling  and  sparkling,  in  the  sun-light. 
A  fresh  breeze  blew  from  the  shore,  and  the  lordly 
boat  ploughed  her  way  right  gallantly  onward. 

O,  what  an  untold  world  there  is  in  one  human 
heart !  Who  thought,  as  George  walked  calmly  up 
and  down  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  with  his  shy 
companion  at  his  side,  of  all  that  was  burning  in  his 
bosom  ?  The  mighty  good  that  seemed  approaching 
seemed  too  good,  too  fair,  even  to  be  a  reality ;  and 
he  felt  a  jealous  dread,  every  moment  of  the  day, 
that  something  would  rise  to  snatch  it  from  him. 

But  the  boat  swept  on.  Hours  fleeted,  and,  at 
last,  clear  and  full  rose  the  blessed  English  shores ; 
shores  charmed  by  a  mighty  spell, — with  one  touch 
to  dissolve  every  incantation  of  slavery,  no  matter 
in  what  language  pronounced,  or  by  what  national 
power  confirmed. 

George  and  his  wife  stood  arm  in  arm,  as  the 
boat  neared  the  small  town  of  Amherstberg,  in 
Canada.  His  breath  grew  thick  and  short ;  a  mist 
gathered  before  his  eyes ;  he  silently  pressed  the 
little  hand  that  lay  trembling  on  his  arm.  The  bell 
rang ;  the  boat  stopped.  Scarcely  seeing  what  he 
•did,  he  looked  out  his  baggage,  and  gathered  his 
little  party.  The  little  company  were  landed  on  the 
shore.  They  stood  still  till  the  boat  had  cleared ; 
and  then,  with  tears  and  embracings,  the  husband 
and  wife,  with  their  wondering  child  in  their  arms, 
knelt  down  and  lifted  up  their  hearts  to  God  ! 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  549 

"**  'T  was  something  like  the  burst  from  death  to  life, 

From  the  grave's  cerements  to  the  robes  of  heaven  ; 
From  sin's  dominion,  and  from  passion's  strife, 
To  the  pure  freedom  of  a  soul  forgiven  ; 
Where  all  the  bonds  of  death  and  hell  are  riven, 
And  mortal  puts  on  immortality, 
When  Mercy's  hand  hath  turned  the  golden  key, 
'  And  Mercy's  voice  hath  said,  Rejoice,  thy  soul  is free ." 

The  little  party  were  soon  guided,  by  Mrs.  Smyth, 
to  the  hospitable  abode  of  a  good  missionary,  whom 
Christian  charity  has  placed  here  as  a  shepherd  to 
the  outcast  and  wandering,  who  are  constantly  find- 
ing an  asylum  on  this  shore. 

Who  can  speak  the  blessedness  of  that  first  day 
of  freedom  ?  Is  not  the  sense  of  liberty  a  higher  and 
a  finer  one  than  any  of  the  five  ?  To  move,  speak 
and  breathe, — go  out  and  come  in  unwatched,  and 
free  from  danger  !  Who  can  speak  the  blessings  of 
that  rest  which  comes  down  on  the  free  man's  pil- 
low, under  laws  which  insure  to  him  the  rights  that 
God  has  given  to  man  ?  How  fair  and  precious  to 
that  mother  was  that  sleeping  child's  face,  endeared 
by  the  memory  of  a  thousand  dangers  !  How  im- 
possible was  it  to  sleep,  in  the  exuberant  possession 
of  such  blessedness  !  And  yet,  these  two  had  not 
one  acre  of  ground, — not  a  roof  that  they  could  call 
their  own, — they  had  spent  their  all,  to  the  last  dol- 
lar. They  had  nothing  more  than  the  birds  of  the 
air,  or  the  flowers  of  the  field, — yet  they  could  not 
sleep  for  joy.  "  O,  ye  who  take  freedom  from  man, 
with  what  words  shall  ye  answer  it  to  God  ? " 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE    VICTORY. 
"  Thanks  be  unto  God,  who  giveth  us  the  victory." 

Have  not  many  of  us,  in  the  weary  way  of  life, 
felt,  in  some  hours,  how  far  easier  it  were  to  die  than 


550  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  I    OR, 

The  martyr^  when  faced  even  by  a  death  of  bodily 
anguish  and  horror,  finds  in  the  very  terror  of  his 
doom  a  strong  stimulant  and  tonic.  There  is  a  vivid 
excitement,  a  thrill  and  fervor,  which  may  carry 
through  any  crisis  of  suffering  that  is  the  birth-hour 
of  eternal  glory  and  rest. 

But  to  live, — to  wear  on,  day  after  day,  of  mean, 
bitter,  low,  harassing  servitude,  every  nerve  damp- 
ened and  depressed,  every  power  of  feeling  gradu- 
ally smothered, — this  long  and  wasting  heart-mar- 
tyrdom, this  slow,  daily  bleeding  away  of  the  inward 
life,  drop  by  drop,  hour  after  hour, — this  is  the  true 
searching  test  of  what  there  may  be  in  man  or 
woman. 

When  Tom  stood  face  to  face  with  his  persecutor, 
and  heard  his  threats,  and  thought  in  his  very  soul 
that  his  hour  was  come,  his  heart  swelled  bravely  in 
him,  and  he  thought  he  could  bear  torture  and  fire, 
bear  anything,  with  the  vision  of  Jesus  and  heaven 
but  just  a  step  beyond  ;  but,  when  he  was  gone,  and 
the  present  excitement  passed  off,  came  back  the 
pain  of  his  bruised  and  weary  limbs, — came  back  the 
sense  of  his  utterly  degraded,  hopeless,  forlorn  es- 
tate ;  and  the  day  passed  wearily  enough. 

Long  before  his  wounds  were  healed,  Legree  in- 
sisted that  he  should  be  put  to  the  regular  field- 
work  ;  and  then  came  day  after  day  of  pain  and  weari- 
ness, aggravated  by  every  kind  of  injustice  and  in- 
dignity that  the  ill-will  of  a  mean  and  malicious  mind 
could  devise.  Whoever,  in  our  circumstances,  has 
made  trial  of  pain,  even  with  all  the  alleviations 
which,  for  us,  usually  attend  it,  must  know  the  irrita- 
tion that  comes  with  it.  Tom  no  longer  wondered 
at  the  habitual  surliness  of  his  associates ;  nay,  he 
found  the  placid,  sunny  temper,  which  had  been  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  55 1 

habitude  of  his  life,  broken  in.on,  and  sorely  strained, 
by  the  inroads  of  the  same  thing.  He  had  flattered 
liimself  on  leisure  to  read  his  Bible ;  but  there  was 
.no  such  thing  as  leisure  there.  In  the  height  of  the 
season,  Legree  did  not  hesitate  to  press  all  his  hands 
through,  Sundays  and  week-days  alike.  Why 
should  n't  he  ? — he  made  more  cotton  by  it,  and 
gained  his  wager ;  and  if  it  wore  out  a  few  more 
hands,  he  could  buy  better  ones.  At  first,  Tom  used 
to  read  a  verse  or  two  of  his  Bible,  by  the  flicker  of 
the  fire,  after  he  had  returned  from  his  daily  toil ; 
but,  after  the  cruel  treatment  he  received,  he  used 
to  come  home  so  exhausted,  that  his  head  swam  and 
his  eyes  failed  when  he  tried  to  read ;  and  he  was 
iain  to  stretch  himself  down,  with  the  others,  in  utter 
-exhaustion. 

Is  it  strange  that  the  religious  peace  and  trust, 
which  had  upborne  him  hitherto,  should  give  way 
to  tossings  of  soul  and  despondent  darkness  ? 
The  gloomiest  problem  of  this  mysterious  life  was 
constantly  before  his  eyes, — souls  crushed  and 
ruined,  evil  triumphant,  and  God  silent.  It  was 
weeks  and  months  that  Tom  wrestled,  in  his  own 
soul,  in  darkness  and  sorrow.  He  thought  of  Miss 
Ophelia's  letter  to  his  Kentucky  friends,  and  would 
pray  earnestly  that  God  would  send  him  deliverance. 
And  then  he  would  watch,  day  after  day,  in  the 
vague  hope  of  seeing  somebody  sent  to  redeem  him  ; 
and,  when  nobody  came,  he  would  crush  back  to  his 
soul  bitter  thoughts, — that  it  was  vain  to  serve  God, 
that  God  had  forgotten  him.  He  sometimes  saw 
Cassy ;  and  sometimes,  when  summoned  to  the 
house,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dejected  form  of 
Emmeline,  but  held  very  little  communion  with 
either  ;  in  fact,  there  was  no  time  for  him  to  com- 
mune with  anybody. 


552  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

One  evening,  he  "was  sitting,  in  utter  dejection 
and  prostration,  by  a  few  decaying  brands,  where 
his  coarse  supper  was  baking.  He  put  a  few  bits  of 
brushwood  on  the  fire,  and  strove  to  raise  the  light,, 
and  then  drew  his  worn  Bible  from  his  pocket. 
There  were  all  the  marked  passages,  which  had 
thrilled  his  soul  so  often, — words  of  patriarchs  and 
seers,  poets  and  sages,  who  from  early  time  had 
spoken  courage  to  man, — voices  from  the  great 
cloud  of  witnesses  who  ever  surround  us  in  the  race 
of  life.  Had  the  word  lost  its  power,  or  could  the 
failing  eye  and  weary  sense  no  longer  answer  to  the 
touch  of  that  mighty  inspiration  ?  Heavily  sighing,, 
he  put  it  in  his  pocket.  A  coarse  laugh  roused  him  ; 
he  looked  up, — Legree  was  standing  opposite  to 
him. 

"  Well,  old  boy,"  he  said,  "  you  find  your  religion 
don't  work,  it  seems  !  I  thought  I  should  get  that 
through  your  wool,  at  last !  " 

The  cruel  taunt  was  more  than  hunger  and  cold 
and  nakedness.     Tom  was  silent. 

"  You  were  a  fool,"  said  Legree  ;  "  for  I  meant  to 
do  well  by  you,  when  I  bought  you.  You  might 
have  been  better  off  than  Sambo,  or  Quimbo  either, 
and  had  easy  times  ;  and,  instead  of  getting  cut  up 
and  thrashed,  every  day  or  two,  ye  might  have  had 
liberty  to  lord  it  round,  and  cut  up  the  other  nig- 
gers ;  and  ye  might  have  had,  now  and  then,  a 
good  warming  of  whiskey  punch.  Come,  Tom, 
don't  you  think  you  'd  better  be  reasonable  ! — heave 
that  ar  old  pack  of  trash  in  the  fire,  and  join  my 
church !  " 

"  The  Lord  forbid !  "  said  Tom,  fervently. 

"  You  see  the  Lord  an't  going  to  help  you  ;  if  he 
had  been,  he  would  n't  have  let  me  get  you  !     This 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY,  £3 

yer  religion  is  all  a  mess  of  lying  trumpery,  Tom.  I 
know  all  about  it.  Ye  'd  better  hold  to  me  ;  I  'm, 
somebody,  and  can  do  something  !  " 

"No,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom;  "I'll  hold  on.  The 
Lord  may  help  me,  or  not  help;  but  I'll  hold  to- 
him,  and  believe  him  to  the  last  1  " 

"  The  more  fool  you ! "  said  Legree,  spitting 
scornfully  at  him,  and  spurning  him  with  his  foot. 
"  Never  mind ;  I  '11  chase  you  down,  yet,  and  bring 
you  under, — you  '11  see  ! ';  and  Legree  turned  away. 

When   a  heavy  weight  presses   the    soul  to    the 
lowest  level  at  which  endurance  is  possible,  there  is- 
an  instant  and   desperate   effort  of  every  physical 
and  moral  nerve  to  throw  off  the  weight ;  and  hence- 
the  heaviest  anguish  often  precedes  a  return  tide  of 
joy  and  courage.     So  was  it  now  with  Tom.     The 
atheistic  taunts  of  his  cruel  master  sunk  his  before- 
dejected  soul  to  the  lowest  ebb ;  and,  though   the 
hand  of  faith  still  held  to  the  eternal  rock,  it  was 
with   a  numb,  despairing  grasp.     Tom  sat,  like  one 
stunned,    at  the  fire.     Suddenly  everything  around 
him  seemed  to  fade,  and  a  vision  rose  before  him  of 
one    crowned  with  thorns,  buffeted   and  bleeding. 
Tom   gazed,  in    awe    and  wonder,   at  the  majestic 
patience  of  the  face;  the  deep,  pathetic  eyes  thrilled 
him   to  his  immost  heart;  his  soul  woke,  as,  with. 
floods  of  emotion,  he   stretched  out  his  hands  and 
fell  upon   his   knees, — when,  gradually,   the  vision 
changed :  the  sharp  thorns  became  rays  of  glory ; 
and,  in  splendor  inconceivable,  he  saw  that  same: 
face  bending  compassionately  towards  him,  and  a. 
voice  said,  "  He  that  overcometh  shall  sit  down  with 
me  on  my  throne,  even  as  I  also  overcame,  and  am. 
set  down  with  my  father  on  his  throne." 

How  long  Tom  lay  there,  he  knew  not.     When  he- 


554  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

came  to  himself,  the  fire  was  gone  out,  his  clothes 
were  wet  with  the  chill  and  drenching  dews  ;  but 
the  dread  soul-crisis  was  past,  and,  in  the  joy  that 
filled  him,  he  no  longer  felt  hunger,  cold,  degrada- 
tion, disappointment,  wretchedness.  From  his  deep- 
est soul,  he  that  hour  loosed  and  parted  from  every 
hope  in  the  life  that  now  is,  and  offered  his  own 
will  an  unquestioning  sacrifice  to  the  Infinite.  Tom 
looked  up  to  the  silent,  ever-living  stars, — types  of 
the  angelic  hosts  who  ever  look  down  on  man  ;  and 
the  solitude  of  the  night  rung  with  the  triumphant 
words  of  a  hymn,  which  he  had  sung  often  in  hap- 
pier days,  but  never  with  such  feeling  as  now  : 

"  The  earth  shall  be  dissolved  like  snow, 
The  sun  shall  cease  to  shine  ; 
But  God,  who  called  me  here  below, 
Shall  be  forever  mine. 

*'  And  when  this  mortal  life  shall  fail, 
And  flesh  and  sense  shall  cease, 
I  shall  possess  within  the  veil 
A  life  of  joy  and  peace. 

•'  When  we  've  been  there  ten  thousand  years, 
Bright  shining  like  the  sun, 
We  've  no  less  days  to  sing  God's  praise 
Than  when  we  first  begun." 

Those  who  have  been  familiar  with  the  religious 
histories  of  the  slave  population  know  that  rela- 
tions like  what  we  have  narrated  are  very  common 
among  them.  We  have  heard  some  from  their  own 
lips,  of  a  very  touching  and  affecting  character. 
The  psychologist  tells  us  of  a  state,  in  which  the 
affections  and  images  of  the  mind  become  so 
dominant  and  overpowering,  that  they  press  into 
their  service  the  outward  senses,  and  make  them  give 
tangible  shape  to  the  inward  imagining.  Who  shall 
measure  what  an  all-pervading  Spirit  may  do  with 
these  capabilities  of  our  mortality,  or  the  ways  in 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  555 

-which  He  may  encourage  the  desponding  souls  of 
the  desolate  ?  If  the  poor  forgotten  slave  believes 
that  Jesus  hath  appeared  and  spoken  to  him,  who 
shall  contradict  him  ?  Did  He  not  say  that  his  mis- 
sion, in  all  ages,  was  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted, 
and  set  at  liberty  them  that  are  bruised  ? 

When  the  dim  gray  of  dawn  woke  the  slumberers 
to  go  forth  to  the  field,  there  was  among  those  tat- 
tered and  shivering  wretches  one  who  walked  with 
an  exultant  tread ;  for  firmer  than  the  ground  he 
trod  on  was  his  strong  faith  in  Almighty,  eternal 
love.  Ah,  Legree,  try  all  your  forces  now  !  Utmost 
agony,  woe,  degradation,  want,  and  loss  of  all  things, 
shall  only  hasten  on  the  process  by  which  he  shall 
Tbe  made  a  king  and  a  priest  unto  God ! 

From  this  time,  an  inviolable  sphere  of  peace 
encompassed  the  lowly  heart  of  the  oppressed  one, 
— an  ever-present  Saviour  hallowed  it  as  a  temple. 
Past  now  the  bleeding  of  earthly  regrets  ;  past  its 
fluctuations  of  hope,  and  fear,  and  desire  ;  the  human 
will,  bent,  and  bleeding,  and  struggling  long,  was 
now  entirely  merged  in  the  Divine.  So  short  now 
seemed  the  remaining  voyage  of  life, — so  near,  so 
vivid,  seemed  eternal  blessedness, — that  life's  utter- 
most woes  fell  from  him  unharming. 

All  noticed  the  change  in  his  appearance.  Cheer- 
fulness and  alertness  seemed  to  return  to  him,  and 
a  quietness  which  no  insult  or  injury  could  ruffle 
seemed  to  possess  him. 

"What  the  devil's  got  into  Tom  ?  "  Legree  said  to 
Sambo.  "  A  while  ago  he  was  all  down  in  the 
mouth,  and  now  he  's  peart  as  a  cricket.'' 

"  Dunno,  Mas'r;  gwine  to  run  off,  mebbe." 

"Like  to  see  him  try  that,"  said  Legree,  with  a 
savage  grin,  "  would  n't  we,  Sambo  ?  " 

37 


5  5  6  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

"  Guess  we  would  !  Haw !  haw  !  ho  !  "  said  the 
sooty  gnome,  laughing  obsequiously.  l'  Lord,  de 
fun !  To  see  him  stickin'  in  de  mud, — chasin'  and 
tearin'  through  de  bushes,  dogs  a  holdin'  on  to  him 
Lord,  I  laughed  fit  to  split,  dat  ar  time  we  cotched 
Molly.  I  thought  they  'd  a  had  her  all  stripped  up 
afore  I  could  get  'em  off.  She  car's  de  marks  o'  dat 
ar  spree  yet." 

"  I  reckon  she  will,  to  her  grave,"  said  Legree. 
"  But  now,  Sambo,  you  look  sharp.  If  the  nigger's 
got  anything  of  this  sort  going,  trip  him  up." 

"  Mas'r,  let  me  'lone  for  dat,"  said  Sambo.  "  I  'II 
tree  de  coon.     Ho,  ho,  ho  ! " 

This  was  spoken  as  Legree  was  getting  on  to  his 
horse,  to  go  to  the  neighboring  town.  That  night, 
as  he  was  returning,  he  thought  he  would  turn  his 
horse  and  ride  round  the  quarters,  and  see  if  all  was 
safe. 

It  was  a  superb  moonlight  night,  and  the  shadows 
of  the  graceful  China  trees  lay  minutely  pencilled 
on  the  turf  below,  and  there  was  that  transparent 
stillness  in  the  air  which  it  seems  almost  unholy 
to  disturb.  Legree  was  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
quarters,  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  some  one  sing- 
ing. It  was  not  a  usual  sound  there,  and  he  paused 
to  listen.     A  musical  tenor  voice  sang, 

"  When  I  can  read  my  title  clear 
To  mansions  in  the  skies, 
I  '11  bid  farewell  to  every  fear 
And  wipe  my  weeping  eyes. 

"  Should  earth  against  my  soul  engage, 
And  hellish  darts  be  hurled, 
Then  I  can  smile  at  Satan's  rage, 
And  face  a  frowning  world. 

"  Let  cares  iike  a  wild  deluge  come, 
And  storms  of  sorrow  fall, 
May  I  but  safely  reach  my  home, 
My  God,  my  Heaven,  my  All." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  557" 

"  So  ho  !  "  said  Legree  to  himself,  "  he  thinks  so„ 
does  he  ?  How  I  hate  these  cursed  Methodist 
hymns  I  Here,  you  nigger,"  said  he,  coming  sud- 
denly out  upon  Tom,  and  raising  his  riding-whip,. 
"  how  dare  you  be  gettin'  up  this  yer  row,  when  you 
ought  to  be  in  bed  ?  Shut  yer  old  black  gash,  and 
f  get  along  in  with  you  !  " 

f     "  Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  with  ready  cheerfulness^ 
as  he  rose  to  go  in. 

Legree  was  provoked  beyond  measure  by  Tom's 
evident  happiness  ;  and,  riding  up  to  him,  belabored 
him  over  his  head  and  shoulders. 

"  There,  you  dog,"  he  said,  "  see  if  you  '11  feel  so 
comfortable,  after  that ! " 

But  the  blows  fell  now  only  on  the  outer  man, 
and  not,  as  before,  on  the  heart.  Tom  stood  per- 
fectly submissive  ;  and  yet  Legree  could  not  hide 
from  himself  that  his  power  over  his  bond  thralL 
was  somehow  gone.  And,  as  Tom  disappeared  in 
his  cabin,  and  he  wheeled  his  horse  suddenly  round, 
there  passed  through  his  mind  one  of  those  vivid 
flashes  that  often  send  the  lightning  of  conscience 
.  across  the  dark  and  wicked  soul.  He  understood 
full  well  that  it  was  God  who  was  standing  between 
him  and  his  victim,  and  he  blasphemed  him.  That 
submissive  and  silent  man,  whom  taunts,  nor  threats, 
nor  stripes,  nor  cruelties,  could  disturb,  roused  a 
voice  within  him,  such  as  of  old  his  Master  roused 
in  the  demoniac  soul,  saying,  "  What  have  we  to  do 
with  thee,  thou  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ? — art  thou  come 
to  torment  us  before  the  time  ? " 

Tom's  whole  soul  overflowed  with  compassion 
and  sympathy  for  the  poor  wretches  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded.  To  him  it  seemed  as  if  his  life- 
sorrows  were  now  over,  and  as  if,  out  of  that  strange 


558  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

treasury  of  peace  and  joy,  with  which  he  had  been 
endowed  from  above,  he  longed  to  pour  out  some- 
thing for  the  relief  of  their  woes.  It  is  true,  oppor- 
tunities were  scanty ,  but,  on  the  way  to  the  fields, 
and  back  again,  and  during  the  hours  of  labor, 
chances  fell  in  his  way  of  extending  a  helping-hand 
to  the  weary,  the  disheartened  and  discouraged. 
The  poor,  worn-down,  brutalized  creatures,  at  first, 
could  scarce  comprehend  this  ;  but,  when  it  was 
continued  week  after  week,  and  month  after  month, 
it  began  to  awaken  long-silent  chords  in  their  be- 
numbed hearts.  Gradually  and  imperceptibly  the 
strange,  silent,  patient  man,  who  was  ready  to  bear 
every  one's  burden,  and  sought  help  from  none, — 
who  stood  aside  for  all,  and  came  last,  and  took 
least,  yet  was  foremost  to  share  his  little  all  with 
any  who  needed, — the  man  who,  in  cold  nights, 
would  give  up  his  tattered  blanket  to  add  to  the 
comfort  of  some  woman  who  shivered  with  sickness, 
and  who  filled  the  baskets  of  the  weaker  ones  in  the 
field,  at  the  terrible  risk  of  coming  short  in  his  own 
measure, — and  who,  though  pursued  with  unrelent- 
ing cruelty  by  their  common  tyrant,  never  joined  in 
uttering  a  word  of  reviling  or  cursing, — this  man,  at 
last,  began  to  have  a  strange  power  over  them  ; 
and,  when  the  more  pressing  season  was  past,  and 
they  were  allowed  again  their  Sundays  for  their  own 
use,  many  would  gather  together  to  hear  from  him 
of  Jesus.  They  would  gladly  have  met  to  hear,  and 
pray,  and  sing,  in  some  place,  together ;  but  Legree 
would  not  permit  it,  and  more  than  once  broke  up 
such  attempts,  with  oaths  and  brutal  execrations,— 
so  that  the  blessed  news  had  to  circulate  from  indi- 
vidual to  individual.  Yet  who  can  speak  the  simple 
joy  with   which   some  of   those   poor   outcasts,  to 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  559 

whom  life  was  a  joyless  journey  to  a  dark  unknown, 
heard  of  a  compassionate  Redeemer  and  a  heavenly 
home  ?  It  is  the  statement  of  missionaries,  that,  of 
all  races  of  the  earth,  none  have  received  the  Gospel 
with  such  eager  docility  as  the  African.  The  prin- 
ciple of  reliance  and  unquestioning  faith,  which  is 
its  foundation,  is  more  a  native  element  in  this  race 
than  any  other;  and  it  has  often  been  found  among 
them,  that  a  stray  seed  of  truth,  borne  on  some 
breeze  of  accident  into  hearts  the  most  ignorant, 
has  sprung  up  into  fruit,  whose  abundance  has 
shamed  that  of  higher  and  more  skilful  culture. 

The  poor  mulatto  woman,  whose  simple  faith  had 
been  well-nigh  crushed  and  overwhelmed,  by  the 
avalanche  of  cruelty  and  wrong  which  had  fallen 
upon  her,  felt  her  soul  raised  up  by  the  hymns  and 
passages  of  Holy  Writ,  which  this  lowly  missionary 
breathed  into  her  ear  in  intervals,  as  they  were  go- 
ing to  and  returning  from  work  ;  and  even  the  half- 
crazed  and  wandering  mind  of  Cassy  was  soothed 
and  calmed  by  his  simple  and  unobtrusive  influ- 
ences. 

Stung  to  madness  and  despair  by  the  crushing 
agonies  of  a  life,  Cassy  had  often  resolved  in  her 
soul  an  hour  of  retribution,  when  her  hand  should 
avenge  on  her  oppressor  all  the  injustice  and  cruelty 
to  which  she  had  been  witness,  or  which  she  had  in 
her  own  person  suffered. 

One  night,  after  all  in  Tom's  cabin  were  sunk  in 
sleep,  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  seeing  her  face 
at  the  hole  between  the  logs,  that  served  for  a  win- 
dow. She  made  a  silent  gesture  for  him  to  come 
out. 

Tom  came  out  the  door.  It  was  between  one  and 
two  o'clock  at  night, — broad,   calm,  still   moonlight. 


560  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

Tom  remarked,  as  the  light  of  the  moon  fell  upon 
Cassy's  large,  black  eyes,  that  there  was  a  wild  and 
peculiar  glare  in  them,  unlike  their  wonted  fixed 
despair. 

"  Come  here,  Father  Tom,"  she  said,  laying  her 
small  hand  on  his  wrist,  and  drawing  him  forward 
with  a  force  as  if  the  hand  were  of  steel ;  "  come 
here, — I  've  news  for  you." 

"  What,  Misse  Cassy  ? "  said  Tom,  anxiously. 

"Tom,  wouldn't  you  like  your  liberty  ? " 

"  I  shall  have  it,  Misse,  in  God's  time,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Ay,  but  you  may  have  it  to-night,"  said  Cassy, 
with  a  flash  of  sudden  energy.     "  Come  on." 

Tom  hesitated. 

"  Come  !  "  said  she,  in  a  whisper,  fixing  her  black 
•eyes  on  him.  "  Come  along  !  He  's  asleep — sound. 
I  put  enough  into  his  brandy  to  keep  him  so.  I 
-wish  I  'd  had  more, — I  should  n't  have  wanted  you. 
But  come,  the  back  door  is  unlocked  ;  there  's  an  axe 
there,  I  put  it  there, — his  room  door  is  open  ;  I  '11 
show  you  the  way.  I'da  done  it  myself,  only  my 
arms  are  so  weak.     Come  along  ! 

"  Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds,  Misse !  "  said 
Tom,  firmly,  stopping  and  holding  her  back,  as  she 
was  pressing  forward. 

"  But  think  of  all  these  poor  creatures,"  said 
Cassy.  "  We  might  set  them  all  free,  and  go  some- 
where in  the  swamps,  and  find  an  island,  and  live  by 
■ourselves  ;  I  've  heard  of  its  being  done.  Any  life  is 
better  than  this." 

"  No  !  "  said  Tom,  firmly.  "  No  !  good  never 
comes  of  wickedness.  I  'd  sooner  chop  my  right 
hand  off !  " 

"Then  I  shall  do  it,"  said  Cassy,  turning. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  56 1 

"  O,  Misse  Cassy !  "  said  Tom,  throwing  himself 
before  her,  "  for  the  dear  Lord's  sake  that  died  for 
ye,  don't  sell  your  precious  soul  to  the  devil,  that 
way  !  Nothing  but  evil  will  come  of  it.  The  Lord 
has  n't  called  us  to  wrath.  We  must  suffer,  and  wait 
his  time." 

"  Wait  !  "  said  Cassy.  "  Have  n't  I  waited  ? — 
waited  till  my  head  is  dizzy  and  my  heart  sick  ? 
What  has  he  made  me  surfer  ?  What  has  he  made 
hundreds  of  poor  creatures  suffer  ?  Is  n't  he 
wringing  the  life-blood  out  of  you  ?  I  'm  called  on  ; 
they  call  me  !  His  time  's  come,  and  I  '11  have  his 
heart's  blood !  " 

"  No,  no,  no  ! "  said  Tom,  holding  her  small 
hands,  which  were  clenched  with  spasmodic  violence. 
*'  No,  ye  poor,  lost  soul,  that  ye  must  n't  do.  The 
dear,  blessed  Lord  never  shed  no  blood  but  his  own, 
and  that  he  poured  out  for  us  when  we  was 
enemies.  Lord,  help  us  to  follow  his  steps,  and 
love  our  enemies." 

"  Love  1  "  said  Cassy,  with  a  fierce  glare  ;  "  love 
such  enemies.     It  is  n't  in  flesh  and  blood." 

"  No,  Misse,  it  is  n't,"  said  Tom,  looking  up  ; 
"  but  He  gives  it  to  us,  and  that  's  the  victory. 
When  we  can  love  and  pray  over  all,  and  through 
all,  the  battle  's  past,  and  the  victory  's  come, — 
glory  be  to  God  !  "  And,  with  streaming  eyes  and 
choking  voice,  the  black  man  looked  up  to 
heaven. 

And  this,  oh  Africa  !  latest  called  of  nations, — 
called  to  the  crown  of  thorns,  the  scourge,  the 
bloody  sweat,  the  cross  of  agony, — this  is  to  be  thy 
victory ;  by  this  shalt  thou  reign  with  Christ  when 
his  kingdom  shall  come  on  earth. 

The  deep  fervor  of  Tom's  feelings,  the    softness 


562  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

of  his  voice,  his  tears,  fell  like  dew  on  the  wild,  un- 
settled spirit  of  the  poor  woman.  A  softness 
gathered  over  the  lurid  fires  of  her  eye  ;  she  looked 
down  and  Tom  could  feel  the  relaxing  muscles  of 
her  hands,  as  she  said, 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  evil  spirits  followed  me  ? 
O  !  Father  Tom,  I  can't  pray, — I  wish  I  could.  I 
never  have  prayed  since  my  children  were  sold  ! 
What  you  say  must  be  right,  I  know  it  must  ;  but 
when  I  try  to  pray,  I  can  only  hate  and  curse.  I 
can't  pray  ! " 

"  Poor  soul  ! "  said  Tom,  compassionately- 
"  Satan  desires  to  have  ye,  and  sift  ye  as  wheat.  I 
pray  the  Lord  for  ye.  O  !  Misse  Cassy,  turn  to  the 
dear  Lord  Jesus.  He  came  to  bind  up  the  broken- 
hearted, and  comfort  all  that  mourn." 

Cassy  stood  silent,  while  large,  heavy  tears 
dropped  from  her  downcast  eyes. 

"  Misse  Cassy,"  said  Tom,  in  a  hesitating  tone,, 
after  surveying  her  a  moment  in  silence,  "  if  ye  only 
could  get  away  from  here, — if  the  thing  was  possible, 
— I  'd  'vise  ye  and  Emmeline  to  do  it  ;  that  is,  if  ye 
could  go  without  blood-guiltiness, — not  otherwise." 

"  Would  you  try  it  with  us,  Father  Tom  ! " 

"  No,"  said  Tom  ;  "  time  was  when  I  would  ;  but 
the  Lord's  given  me  a  work  among  these  yer  poor 
souls,  andT  '11  stay  with  'em  and  bear  my  cross  with 
'em  till  the  end.  It  's  differrent  with  you  ;  it  's  a 
snare  to  you, — it  's  more  'n  you  can  stand, — and 
you  'd  better  go,  if  you  can." 

"  I  know  no  way  but  through  the  grave,"  said 
Cassy.  "  There  's  no  beast  or  bird  but  can  find  a 
home  somewhere  ;  even  the  snakes  and  the  alligators 
have  their  places  to  lie  down  and  be  quiet  ;  but 
there  's    no   place   for   us.     Down    in    the  darkest 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  563 

swamps,  their  dogs  will  hunt  us  out,  and  find  us- 
Everybody  and  everything  is  against  us  ;  even  the 
very  beasts  side  against  us,  an  where  shall  we 
go?" 

Tom  stood  silent  ;  at  length  he  said, 

"  Him  that  saved  Daniel  in  the  den  of  lions, — 
that  saved  the  children  in  the  fiery  furnace, — Him 
that  walked  on  the  sea,  and  bade  the  winds  be  still,, 
— He  's  alive  yet ;  and  I  've  faith  to  believe  he  can 
deliver  you.  Try  it,  and  I  '11  pray,  with  all  my 
might  for  you." 

By  what  strange  law  of  mind  is  it  that  an  idea- 
long  overlooked,  and  trodden  under  foot  as  a  use- 
less stone,  suddenly  sparkles  out  in  a  new  light,  as 
a  discovered  diamond  ? 

Cassy  had  often  revolved,  for  hours,  all  possible 
or  probable  schemes  of  escape,  and  dismissed  them 
all,  as  hopeless  and  impracticable ;  but  at  this  mo- 
ment there  flashed  through  her  mind  a  plan,  so 
simple  and  feasible  in  all  its  details,  as  to  waken  am 
instant  hope. 

"  Father  Tom,  I'll  try  it ! "  she  said  suddenly. 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Tom,  "  the  Lord  help  ye  ! " 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

*      THE  STRATAGEM. 

"  The  way  of  the  wicked  is  as  darkness  ;  he  knoweth  not  at  what  he 
stumbleth." 

The  garret  of  the  house  that  Legree  occupied,, 
like  most  other  garrets,  was  a  great,  desolate  space, 
dusty,  hung  with  cobwebs,  and  littered  with  cast-off 
lumber.  The  opulent  family  that  had  inhabited  the 
house  in  the  days  of  its  splendor  had  imported  a 
great  deal  of  splendid  furniture,  some  of  which  they 


564  UNCLE    TOM?S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Iiad  taken  away  with  them,  while  some  remained 
.standing  desolate  in  mouldering,  unoccupied  rooms, 
or  stored  away  in  this  place.  One  or  two  immense 
packing-boxes,  in  which  this  furniture  was  brought, 
.stood  against  the  sides  of  the  garret.  There  was  a 
small  window  there,  which  let  in,  through  its  dingy, 
dusty  panes,  a  scanty,  uncertain  light  on  the  tall, 
high-backed  chairs  and  dusty  tables,  that  had  once 
seen  better  days.  Altogether,  it  was  a  weird  and 
ghostly  place ;  but,  ghostly  as  it  was,  it  wanted  not 
In  legends  among  the  superstitious  negroes,  to  in- 
crease its  terrors.  Some  few  years  before,  a  negro 
Avoraan,  who  had  incurred  Legree's  displeasure,  was 
confined  there  for  several  weeks.  What  passed 
there,  we  do  not  say ;  the  negroes  used  to  whisper 
darkly  to  each  other ;  but  it  was  known  that  the 
body  of  the  unfortunate  creature  was  one  day  taken 
/down  from  there,  and  buried ;  and,  after  that,  it  was 
said  that  oaths  and  cursings  and  the  sound  of  vio- 
lent blows,  used  to  ring  through  that  old  garret,  and 
mingled  with  wailings  and  groans  of  despair.  Once, 
when  Legree  chanced  to  overhear  something  of  this 
Idnd,  he  flew  into  a  violent  passion,  and  swore  that 
the  next  one  that  told  stories  about  that  garret 
should  have  an  opportunity  of  knowing  what  was 
there,  for  he  would  chain  them  up  there  for  a  week. 
This  hint  was  enough  to  repress  talking,  though,  of 
course,  it  did  not  disturb  the  credit  of  the  story  in 
the  least. 

Gradually,  the  staircase  that  led  to  the  garret,  and 
even  the  passage-way  to  the  staircase,  were  avoided 
by  every  one  in  the  house,  from  every  one  fearing 
to  speak  of  it,  and  the  legend  was  gradually  falling 
into  desuetude.  It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  Cassy 
to  make  use  of  the  superstitious  excitability,  which 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  565 

was  so  great  in  Legree,  for  the  purpose  of  her  lib- 
eration, and  that  of  her  fellow-sufferer. 

The  sleeping-room  of  Cassy  was  directly  under 
the  garret.  One  day,  without  consulting  Legree, 
she  suddenly  took  it  upon  her,  with  some  consider- 
able ostentation,  to  change  all  the  furniture  and  ap- 
purtenances of  the  room  to  one  at  some  considerable 
distance.  The  under-servants,  who  were  called 
on  to  effect  this  movement,  were  running  and  bus- 
tling about  with  great  zeal  and  confusion,  when 
Legree  returned  from  a  ride. 

"  Hallo  !  you  Cass  !  "  said  Legree,  "  what 's  in  the 
wind  now  ? " 

"  Nothing  ;  only  I  choose  to  have  another  room," 
said  Cassy,  doggedly. 

"  And  what  for,  pray  ? "  said  Legree. 

"  I  choose  to,"  said  Cassy. 

"  The  devil  vou  do  !  and  what  for  ?  " 

-    * 

4t  I  'd  like  to  get  some  sleep,  now  and  then." 

"'  Sleep  !  well,  what  hinders  your  sleeping  ?  " 

*'  I  could  tell,  I  suppose,  if  you  want  to  hear," 
said  Cassy,  dryly. 

"  Speak  out,  you  minx  !  "  said  Legree. 

"  O  !  nothing.  I  suppose  it  would  n't  disturb 
you  !  Only  groans,  and  people  scuffling,  and  roll- 
ing round  on  the  garret  floor,  half  the  night,  from 
twelve  to  morning  !  " 

"  People  up  garret !  "  said  Legree,  uneasily,  but 
forcing  a  laugh \  '*  who  are  they,  Cassy  ?  " 

Cassy  raised  her  sharp,  black  eyes,  and  looked  in 
the  face  of  Legree,  with  an  expression  that  went 
through  his  bones,  as  she  said,  "  To  be  sure,  Simon, 
who  are  they  ?  I  'd  like  to  have  you  tell  me.  You 
don't  know,  I  suppose  !  " 

With  an  oath,  Legree  struck  at  her  with  his  riding- 


566  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

whip  ;  but  she  glided  one  side,  and  passed  through 
the  door,  and  looking  back,  said,  "If  you  '11  sleep 
in  that  room,  you  '11  know  all  about  it.  Perhaps 
you  'd  better  try  it !  "  and  then  immediately  she  shut 
and  locked  the  door. 

Legree  blustered  and  swore,  and  threatened  to 
break  down  the  door  ;  but  apparently  thought  better 
of  it,  and  walked  uneasily  into  the  sitting-room. 
Cassy  perceived  that  her  shaft  had  struck  home  ; 
and,  from  that  hour,  with  the  most  exquisite  ad- 
dress, she  never  ceased  to  continue  the  train  of  in- 
fluences she  had  begun. 

In  a  knot-hole  in  the  garret  she  had  inserted  the 
neck  of  an  old  bottle,  in  such  a  manner  that  when 
there  was  the  least  wind,  most  doleful  and  lugubri- 
ous wailing  sounds  proceeded  from  it,  which,  in  a 
high  wind,  increased  to  a  perfect  shriek,  such  as  to 
credulous  and  superstitious  ears  might  easily  seem 
to  be  that  of  horror  and  despair. 

These  sounds  were,  from  time  to  time,  heard  by 
the  servants,  and  revived  in  full  force  the  memory 
of  the  old  ghost  legend.  A  superstitious  creeping 
horror  seemed  to  fill  the  house ;  and  though  no  one 
dared  to  breathe  it  to  Legree,  he  found  himself  en- 
compassed by  it,  as  by  an  atmosphere. 

No  one  is  so  thoroughly  superstitious  as  the  god- 
less man.  The  Christian  is  composed  by  the  belief 
of  a  wise,  all-ruling  Father,  whose  presence  fills  the 
void  unknown  with  light  and  order;  but  to  the  man 
who  has  dethroned  God,  the  spirit-land  is,  indeed, 
in  the  words  of  the  Hebrew  poet,  "  a  land  of  dark- 
ness and  the  shadow  of  death,"  without  any  order, 
where  the  light  is  as  darkness.  Life  and  death  to 
him  are  haunted  grounds,  filled  with  goblin  forms 
of  vague  and  shadowy  di;ead. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  567 

Legree  had  had  the  slumbering  moral  element  in 
him  roused  by  his  encounters  with  Tom, — roused, 
only  to  be  resisted  by  the  determinate  force  of  evil ; 
but  still  there  was  a  thrill  and  commotion  of  the 
dark,  inner  world,  produced  by  every  word,  or 
prayer,  or  hymn,  that  reacted  in  superstitious  dread. 

The  influence  of  Cassy  over  him  was  of  a  strange 
and  singular  kind.  He  was  her  owner,  her  tyrant 
and  tormentor.  She  was,  as  he  knew,  wholly,  and 
without  any  possibility  of  help  or  redress,  in  his 
hands ;  and  yet  so  it  is,  that  the  most  brutal  man 
cannot  live  in  constant  association  with  a  strong 
female  influence,  and  not  be  greatly  controlled  by 
it.  When  he  first  bought  her,  she  was,  as  she  had 
said,  a  woman  delicately  bred  ;  and  then  he  crushed 
her,  without  scruple,  beneath  the  foot  of  his  bru- 
tality. But,  as  time,  and  debasing  influences,  and 
•despair,  hardened  womanhood  within  her,  and 
waked  the  fires  of  fiercer  passions,  she  had  become 
in  a  measure  his  mistress,  and  he  alternately' tyran- 
nized over  and  dreaded  her. 

This  influence  had  become  more  harassing  and 
decided,  since  partial  insanity  had  given  a  strange, 
weird,  unsettled  cast  to  all  her  words  and  language. 

A  night  or  two  after  this,  Legree  was  sitting  in 
the  old  sitting-room,  by  the  side  of  a  flickering 
wood  fire,  that  threw  uncertain  glances  round-  the 
room.  It  was  a  stormy,  windy  night,  such  as  raises 
whole  squadrons  of  nondescript  noises  in  rickety  old 
houses.  Windows  were  rattling,  shutters  flapping, 
the  wind  carousing,  rumbling  and  tumbling  down 
the  chimney,  and,  every  once  in  a  while,  puffing  out 
smoke  and  ashes,  as  if  a  legion  of  spirits  were  com- 
ing after  them.  Legree  had  been  casting  up  ac- 
counts and   reading    newspapers    for    some    hours, 


568  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

while  Cassy  sat  in  the  corner,  sullenly  looking  into 
the  fire.  Legree  laid  down  his  paper,  and  seeing  an 
old  book  lying  on  the  table,  which  he  had  noticed 
Cassy  reading,  the  first  part  of  the  evening,  took  it 
up,  and  began  to  turn  it  over.  It  was  one  of  those 
collections  of  stories  of  bloody  murders,  ghostly 
legends,  and  supernatural  visitations,  which,  coarse- 
ly got  up  and  illustrated,  have  a  strange  fascination 
for  one  who  once  begins  to  read  them. 

Legree  poohed  and  pished,  but  read,  turning  page 
after  page,  till,  finally,  after  reading  some  way,  he 
threw  down  the  book,  with  an  oath. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  ghosts,  do  you,  Cass  ?  " 
said  he,  taking  the  tongs  and  settling  the  fire.  "  I 
thought  you  'd  more  sense  than  to  let  noises  scare 
you" 

"  No  matter  what  I  believe,"  said  Cassy,  sullenly. 

"  Fellows  used  to  try  to  frighten  me  with  their 
yarns  at  sea,"  said  Legree.  "  Never  come  it  round 
me  that  way.  I  'm  too  tough  for  any  such  trash, 
tell  ye." 

Cassy  sat  looking  intensely  at  him  in  the  shadow 
of  the  corner.  There  was  that  strange  light  in  her 
eyes  that  always  impressed  Legree  with  uneasiness. 

"  Them  noises  was  nothing  but  rats  and  the  wind," 
said  Legree.  "  Rats  will  make  a  devil  of  a  noise. 
I  used  to  hear  'em  sometimes  down  in  the  hold  of  the 
ship';  and  wind, — Lord's  sake!  ye  can  make  any- 
thing out  o'  wind." 

Cassy  knew  Legree  was  uneasy  under  her  eyes,, 
and,  therefore,  she  made  no  answer,  but  sat  fixing 
them  on  him,  with  that  strange,  unearthly  expression,, 
as  before. 

"  Come,  speak  out,  woman, — don't  you  think  so  ? " 
said  Legree 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  569 

"  Can  rats  walk  down  stairs,  and  come  walking; 
through  the  entry,  and  open  a  door  when  you  've 
locked  it  and  set  a  chair  against  it?"  said  Cassy ; 
"and  come  walk,  walk,  walking  right  up  to  your 
bed,  and  put  out  their  hand,  so  ? " 

Cassy  kept  her  glittering  eyes  fixed  on  Legree,  as 
she  spoke,  and  he  stared  at  her  like  a  man  in  the 
nightmare,  till,  when  she  finished  by  laying  her 
hand,  icy  cold,  on  his,  he  sprung  back,  with  an 
oath. 

"  Woman  !  what  do  you  mean  ?     Nobody  did  ? " — 

"  O,  no, — of  course  not, — did  I  say  they  did?" 
said  Cassy,  with  a  smile  of  chilling  derision. 

"  But — did — have  you  really  seen  ? — Come,  Cass, 
what  is  it,  now, — speak  out ! 

"  You  may  sleep  there,  yourself,"  said  Cassy,  "  if 
you  want  to  know." 

"  Did  it  come  from  the  garret,  Cassy  ?  " 

"  //, — what  ?  "  said  Cassy. 

"  Why,  what  you  told  of — " 

"  I  did  n't  tell  you  anything,"  said  Cassy,  with 
dogged  sullenness. 

Legree  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  uneasily. 

*  I  '11  have  this  yer  thing  examined.  I  '11  look 
into  it,  this  very  night.     I  '11  take  my  pistols — " 

"  Do,"  said  Cassy  ;  "  sleep  in  that  room.  I  'd 
like  to  see  you  doing  it.     Fire  your  pistols, — do  1 " 

Legree  stamped  his  foot,  and  swore  violently. 

"  Don't  swear,"  said  Cassy  ;  "  nobody  knows  who 
may  be  hearing  you.     Hark  !     What  was  that !  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Legree,  starting. 

A  heavy  old  Dutch  clock,  that  stood  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  began,  and  slowly  struck  twelve. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  Legree  neither  spoke 
nor   moved ;  a   vague    horror   fell    on  'him ;  while 


570  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN;    OR, 

Cassy,  with  a  keen,  sneering  glitter  in  her  eyes,  stood 
looking  at  him,  counting  the  strokes. 

"  Twelve  o'clock ;  well,  now  we  '11  see,"  said  she, 
turning,  and  opening  the  door  into  the  passage-way, 
and  standing  as  if  listening. 

"  Hark !  What  's  that  ?  "  said  she,  raising  her 
iinger. 

"  It  's  only  the  wind,"  said  Legree.  "  Don't  you 
hear  how  cursedly  it  blows  ?  " 

"  Simon,  come  here,"  said  Cassy,  in  a  whisper, 
laying  her  hand  on  his,  and  leading  him  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  :  "  do  you  know  what  that  is  ?    Hark  !  " 

A  wild  shriek  came  pealing  down  the  stairway. 
It  came  from  the  garret.  Legree's  knees  knocked 
together ;  his  face  grew  white  with  fear. 

"  Had  n't  you  better  get  your  pistols  ? "  said 
Cassy,  with  a  sneer  that  froze  Legree's  blood.  "  It 's 
time  this  thing  was  looked  into,  you  know.  I  'd 
like  to  have  you  go  up  now  ;  they  're at  it" 

"  I  won't  go  !  "  said  Legree,  with  an  oath. 

"  Why  not  ?  There  an't  any  such  thing  as  ghosts, 
30U  know  !  Come  ! "  and  Cassy  flitted  up  the 
winding  stairway,  laughing,  and  looking  back  after 
him.     "  Come  on." 

"  I  believe  you  are  the  devil  ! "  said  Legree. 
*l  Come  back,  you  hag, — come  back,  Cass  !  You 
shan't  go  !  " 

But  Cassy  laughed  wildly,  and  fled  on.  He 
heard  her  open  the  entry  doors  that  led  to  the  gar- 
ret. A  wild  gust  of  wind  swept  down,  extinguish- 
ing the  candle  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  with  it  the 
fearful,  unearthly  screams ;  they  seemed  to  be 
shrieked  in  his  very  ear. 

Legree  fled  frantically  into  the  parlor,  whither,  in 
a    few  moments,  he  was  followed  by    Cassy,  pale, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  57 1 

calm,  cold  as  an  avenging  spirit,  and  with  that  same 
fearful  light  in  her  eye. 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,"  said  she. 

"  Blast  you,  Cass  !  "  said  Legree. 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  Cassy.  "  I  only  went  up  and 
shut  the  doors.  What 's  the  matter  with  that  garret, 
Simon,  do  you  suppose  ?  "  said  she. 

"  None  of  your  business  !  "  said  Legree. 

"  O,  it  an't  ?  Well,"  said  Cassy,  "  at  any  rate, 
I  'm  glad  I  don't  sleep  under  it." 

Anticipating  the  rising  of  the  wind,  that  very 
evening,  Cassy  had  been  up  and  opened  the  garret 
window.  Of  course,  the  moment  the  doors  were 
opened,  the  wind  had  drafted  down,  and  extin- 
guished the  light. 

This  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  game  that 
Cassy  played  with  Legree,  until  he  would  sooner 
have  put  his  head  into  a  lion's  mouth  than  to  have 
■explored  that  garret.  Meanwhile,  in  the  night, 
when  everybody  else  was  asleep,  Cassy  slowly  and 
carefully  accumulated  there  a  stock  of  provisions 
sufficient  to  afford  subsistence  for  some  time  ;  she 
transferred,  article  by  article,  a  greater  part  of  her 
own  and  Emmeline's  wardrobe.  All  things  being 
arranged,  they  only  waited  a  fitting  opportunity  to 
put  their  plan  in  execution. 

By  cajoling  Legree,  and  taking  advantage  of  a 
good-natured  interval,  Cassy  had  got  him  to  take 
her  with  him  to  the  neighboring  town,  which  was 
situated  directly  on  the  Red  river.  With  a  memory 
sharpened  to  almost  preternatural  clearness,  she 
remarked  every  turn  in  the  road,  and  formed  a 
mental  estimate  of  the  time  to  be  occupied  in  trav- 
ersing it. 

At  the  time  when  all  was  matured  for  action,  our 
38 


572  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  I    OR, 

readers  may,  perhaps,  like  to  look  behind  the  scenes, 
and  see  the  final  coup  d'etat. 

It  was  now  near  evening.  Legree  had  been? 
absent,  on  a  ride  to  a  neighboring  farm.  For  many- 
days  Cassy  had  been  unusually  gracious  and  ac- 
commodating in  her  humors  ;  and  Legree  and  she 
had  been,  apparently,  on  the  best  of  terms.  At 
present,  we  may  behold  her  and  Emmeline  in  the 
room  of  the  latter,  busy  in  sorting  and  arranging 
two  small  bundles. 

"  There,  these  will  be  large  enough,"  said  Cassy- 
"  Now  put  on  your  bonnet,  and  let 's  start ;  it 's  just 
about  the  right  time." 

"  Why,  they  can  see  us  yet,"  said  Emmeline. 

"  I  mean  they  shall,"  said  Cassy,  coolly.  "  Don't 
you  know  that  they  must  have  their  chase  after  us,, 
at  any  rate  ?  The  way  of  the  thing  is  to  be  just 
this  : — We  will  steal  out  of  the  back  door,  and  run 
down  by  the  quarters.  Sambo  or  Quimbo  will  be 
sure  to  see  us.  They  will  give  chase,  and  we  will 
get  into  the  swamp  ;  then,  they  can't  follow  us  any 
further  till  they  go  up  and  give  the  alarm,  and  turn 
out  the  dogs,  and  so  on  ;  and,  while  they  are  blun- 
dering round,  and  tumbling  over  each  other,  as 
they  always  do,  you  and  I  will  just  slip  along  to  the 
creek,  that  runs  back  of  the  house,  and  wade  along 
in  it,  till  we  get  opposite  the  back  door.  That  will 
put  the  dogs  all  at  fault ;  for  scent  won't  lie  in  the 
water.  Every  one  will  run  out  of  the  house  to  look, 
after  us,  and  then  we  '11  whip  in  at  the  back  door, 
and  up  into  the  garret,  where  I  've  got  a  nice  bed 
made  up  in  one  of  the  great  boxes.  We  must  stay 
in  that  garret  a  good  while  ;  for,  I  tell  you,  he  will 
raise  heaven  and  earth  after  us.  He  '11  muster  some 
of  those  old  overseers  on  the  other  plantations^  and 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  573. 

have  a  great  hunt;  and  they  '11  gO  over  every  inch 
of  ground   in  that   swamp.     He  makes  it  his  boast: 
that   nobody  ever  got  away  from  him.     So  let  him. 
hunt  at  his  leisure." 

"  Cassy,  how  well  you  have  planned  it!"  said 
Emmeline.  "  Who  ever  would  have  thought  of  it, 
but  you  ?  " 

There  was  neither  pleasure  nor  exultation  in 
Cassy's  eyes, — only  a  despairing  firmness. 

"Come,"  she  said,  reaching  her  hand  to  Emme- 
line. 

The  two  fugitives  glided  noiselessly  from  the 
house,  and  flitted,  through  the  gathering  shadows 
of  evening,  along  by  the  quarters.  The  crescent 
moon,  set  like  a  silver  signet  in  the  western  sky, 
delayed  a  little  the  approach  of  night.  As  Cassy 
expected,  when  quite  near  the  verge  of  the  swamps 
that  encircled  the  plantation,  they  heard  a  voice 
calling  to  them  to  stop.  It  wTas  not  Sambo,  how- 
ever, but  Legree,  who  was  pursuing  them  with  vio- 
lent execrations.  At  the  sound,  the  feebler  spirit 
of  Emmeline  gave  way  ;  and,  laying  hold  of  Cassy's 
arm,  she  said,  "  O,  Cassy,  I  'm  going  to  faint !  " 

"  If  you  do,  I  '11  kill  you  !  "  said  Cassy,  drawing  a. 
small,  glittering  stiletto,  and  flashing  it  before  the 
eyes  of  the  girl. 

The  diversion  accomplished  the  purpose.  Emme- 
line did  not  faint,  and  succeeded  in  plunging,  with 
Cassy,  into  a  part  of  the  labyrinth  of  swamp,  so  deep 
and  dark  that  it  was  perfectly  hopeless  for  Legree  to 
think  of  following  them,  without  assistance. 

t  Well,"  said  he,  chuckling  brutally  ;  "  at  any  rater 
they  've  got  themselves  into  a  trap  now — the  bag- 
gages !  They  're  safe  enough.  They  shall  sweat 
for  it !  " 


574  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"Hulloa,  there!  Sambo!  Quimbo  !  All  hands  !  " 
called  Legree,  coming  to  the  quarters,  when  the 
men  and  women  were  just  returning  from  work. 
"  There  's  two  runaways  in  the  swamps.  I  '11  give 
five  dollars  to  any  nigger  as  catches  'em.  Turn  out 
the  dogs !     Turn  out  Tiger,  and  Fury,  and  the  rest !  " 

The  sensation  produced  by  this  news  was  im- 
mediate. Many  of  the  men  sprang  forward,  of- 
ficiously, to  offer  their  services,  either  from  the  hope 
of  the  reward,  or  from  that  cringing  subserviency 
which  is  one  of  the  most  baleful  effects  of  slavery. 
Some  ran  one  way,  and  some  another.  Some  were 
for  getting  flambeaux  of  pine-knots.  Some  were 
uncoupling  the  dogs,  whose  hoarse,  savage  bay 
added  not  a  little  to  the  animation  of  the  scene. 

"  Mas'r,  shall  we  shoot  'em,  if  we  can't  cotch  'em  ?  " 
said  Sambo,  to  whom  his  master  brought  out  a  rifle. 

"  You  may  fire  on  Cass,  if  you  like  ;  it 's  time  she 
was  gone  to  the  devil,  where  she  belongs  ;  but  the 
gal,  not,"  said  Legree.     "  And  now,  boys,  be  spry 
and  smart.     Five  dollars  for  him  that  gets  'em  ;  and  • 
a  glass  of  spirits  to  every  one  of  you,  anyhow." 

The  whole  band,  with  the  glare  of  blazing  torches, 
and  whoop,  and  shout,  and  savage  yell,  of  man  and 
beast,  proceeded  down  to  the  swamp,  followed,  at 
some  distance,  by  every  servant  in  the  house.  The 
establishment  was,  of  a  consequence,  wholly  de- 
serted, when  Cassy  and  Emmeline  glided  into  it  the 
back  way.  The  whooping  and  shouts  of  their  pur- 
suers were  still  filling  the  air;  and,  looking  from  the 
sitting-room  windows,  Cassy  and  Emmeline  could 
see  the  troop,  with  their  flambeaux,  just  dispersing 
themselves  along  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 

"  See  there  !  "  said  Emmeline,  pointing  to  Cassy ; 
"  the  hunt  is  begun  !     Look  how  those  lights  dance 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  575 

about !  Hark  !  the  dogs  !  Don't  you  hear  ?  If  we 
were  only  there,  our  chance  would  n't  be  worth  a 
picayune.  O,  for  pity's  sake,  do  let 's  hide  ourselves. 
Quick !  " 

"There's  no  occasion  for  hurry,"  said  Cassy, 
coolly ;  "  they  are  all  out  after  the  hunt, — that 's  the 
amusement  of  the  evening  !  We  '11  go  upstairs,  by 
and  by.  Meanwhile,"  said  she,  deliberately  taking 
a  key  from  the  pocket  of  a  coat  that  Legree  had 
thrown  down  in  his  hurry,  "  meanwhile  I  shall  take 
something  to  pay  our  passage." 

She  unlocked  the  desk,  took  from  it  a  roll  of  bills, 
which  she  counted  over  rapidly. 

"  O,  don't  let 's  do  that !  "  said  Emmeline. 

"  Don't !  "  said  Cassy  ;  "  why  not  ?  Would  you 
have  us  starve  in  the  swamps,  or  have  that  that 
will  pay  our  way  to  the  free  states  ?  Money  will  do 
anything,  girl."  And,  as  she  spoke,  she  put  the 
money  in  her  bosom. 

"  It  would  be  stealing,"  said  Emmeline,  in  a  dis- 
tressed whisper. 

"  Stealing  ! "  said  Cassy,  with  a  scornful  laugh. 
"  They  who  steal  body  and  soul  need  n't  talk  to  us. 
Every  one  of  these  bills  is  stolen, — stolen  from  poor, 
starving,  sweating  creatures,  who  must  go  to  the 
devil  at  last,  for  his  profit.  Let  him  talk  about 
stealing  !  But  come,  we  may  as  well  go  up  garret ; 
I  've  got  a  stock  of  candles  there,  and  some  books 
to  pass  away  the  time.  You  may  be  pretty  sure 
they  won't  come  there  to  inquire  after  us.  If  they 
do,  I  '11  play  ghost  for  them." 

When  Emmeline  reached  the  garret,  she  found  aa 
immense  box,  in  which  some  heavy  pieces  of  furni- 
ture had  once  been  brought,  turned  on  its  side,  so 
that  the  opening  faced  the  wall,  or  rather  the  eaves. 


576  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

•Cassy  lit  a  small  lamp,  and,  creeping  round  under 
the  eaves,  they  established  themselves  in  it.  It  was 
spread  with  a  couple  of  small  mattresses  and  some 
pillows  ;  a  box  near  by  was  plentifully  stored  with 
candles,  provisions,  and  all  the  clothing  necessary 
to  their  journey,  which  Cassy  had  arranged  into 
bundles  of  an  astonishingly  small  compass. 

"  There,"  said  Cassy,  as  she  fixed  the  lamp  into  a 
small  hook,  which  she  had  driven  into  the  side  of 
the  box  for  that  purpose  ;  "  this  is  to  be  our  home 
for  the  present.     How  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  they  won't  come  and  search  the 
garret  ?  " 

"  I  'd  like  to  see  Simon  Legree  doing  that,"  said 
Cassy.  "  No,  indeed  ;  he  will  be  too  glad  to  keep 
away.  As  to  the  servants,  they  would  any  of  them 
stand  and  be  shot,  sooner  than  show  their  faces  here." 

Somewhat  reassured,  Emmeline  settled  herself 
"back  on  her  pillow. 

"  What  did  you  mean,  Cassy,  by  saying  you  would 
kill  me  ?  "  she  said,  simply. 

"I  meant  to  stop  your  fainting,"  said  Cassy, 
ft.  and  I  did  do  it.  And  now  I  tell  you,  Emmeline, 
you  must  make  up  your,  mind  not  to  faint,  let  what 
will  come  ;  there  's  np  sort  of  need  of  it.  If  I  had 
not  stopped  you,  that  wretch  might  have  had  his 
hands  on  you  now." 

Emmeline  shuddered.   .. 

The  two  remained  some,  time  in  silence.  Cassy 
busied  herself  with  a  French  book  ;  Emmeline, 
overcome  with  the  exhaustion,  fell  into  a  doze,  and 
slept  sometime.  She  was  awakened  by  loud  shouts 
and  outcries,  the  tramp  of  horses'  feet,  and  the  bay- 
ing of  dogs.     She  started  up,  with  a  faint  shriek. 

"  Only  the  hunt  coming  back,"  said  Cassy  coolly ; 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  577 

f*  never  fear.  Look  out  of  this  knot-hole.  Don't 
you  see  'em  all  down  there  ?  Simon  has  to  give  it 
up,  for  this  night.  Look,  how  muddy  his  horse  is, 
flouncing  about  in  the  swamp  •  the  dogs,  too,  look 
rather  crest-fallen.  Ah,  my  good  sir,  you  '11  have  to 
try  the  race  again  and  again, — the  game  is  n't  there." 

"  O,  don't  speak  a  word  ! "  said  Emmeline ; 
•"  what  if  they  should  hear  you  ? " 

"  If  they  do  hear  anything,  it  will  make  them 
very  particular  to  keep  away,"  said  Cassy.  "  No 
■danger ;  we  may  make  any  noise  we  please,  and  it 
will  only  add  to  the  effect." 

At  length  the  stillness  of  midnight  settled  down 
over  the  house.  Legree,  cursing  his  ill  luck,  and 
vowing  dire  vengeance  on  the  morrow,  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE    MARTYR. 

"  Deem  not  the  just  by  Heaven  forgot ! 
Though  life  its  common  gifts  deny, — 
Though,  with  a  crushed  and  bleeding  heart, 

And  spurned  of  man,  he  goes  to  die  ! 
For  God  hath  marked  each  sorrowing  day, 

And  numbered  every  bitter  tear  ; 
And  heaven's  long  years  of  bliss  shall  pay 

For  all  his  children  suffer  here."  Bryant. 

The  longest  way  must  have  its  close, — the 
gloomiest  night  will  wear  on  to  a  morning.  An 
eternal,  inexorable  lapse  of  moments  is  ever  hurry- 
ing the  day  of  the  evil  to  an  eternal  night,  and  the 
night  of  the  just  to  an  eternal  day.  We  have  walked 
with  our  humble  friend  thus  far  in  the  valley  of  slav- 
ery ;  first  through  flowery  fields  of  ease  and  indul- 
gence, then  through  heart-breaking  separations 
from  all  that  man  holds  dear.  Again,  we  have 
waited  with  him  in  a  sunny  island,  where  generous 


578  uncle  tom's  cabin:  or, 

hands  concealed  his  chains  with  flowers  ;  and,  lastly, 
we  have  followed  him  when  the  last  ray  of  earthly 
hope  went  out  in  night,  and  seen  how,  in  the  black- 
ness of  earthly  darkness,  the  firmament  of  the  unseen* 
has  blazed  with  stars  of  new  and  significant  lustre. 

The  morning-star  now  stands  over  the  tops  of  the 
mountains,  and  gales  and  breezes,  not  of  earth,  show 
that  the  gates  of  day  are  unclosing. 

The  escape  of  Cassy  and  Emmeline  irritated  the 
before  surly  temper  of  Legree  to  the  last  degree ;  and 
his  fury,  as  was  to  be  expected,  fell  upon  the  defence- 
less head  of  Tom.  When  he  hurriedly  announced 
the  tidings  among  his  hands,  there  was  a  sudden 
light  in  Tom's  eye,  a  sudden  upraising  of  his  hands, 
that  did  not  escape  him.  ,  He  saw  that  he  did  not 
join  the  muster  of  the  pursuers.  He  thought  of  forc- 
ing him  to  do  it ;  but,  having  had,  of  old,  experience 
of  his  inflexibility  when  commanded  to  take  part  in 
any  deed  of  inhumanity,  he  would  not,  in  his  hurry, 
stop  to  enter  into  any  conflict  with  him 

Tom,  therefore,  remained  behind,  with  a  few  who 
had  learned  of  him  to  pray,  and  offered  up  prayers 
for  the  escape  of  the  fugitives. 

When  Legree  returned,  baffled  and  disappointed, 
all  the  long-working  hatred  of  his  soul  towards  his 
slave  began  to  gather  in  a  deadly  and  desperate 
form.  Had  not  this  man  braved  him, — steadily, 
powerfully,  resistlessly, — ever  since  he  bought  him  ? 
Was  there  not  a  spirit  in  him  which,  silent  as  it  was, 
burned  on  him  like  the  fires  of  perdition  ? 

"  I  hate  him  !  "  said  Legree,  that  night,  as  he  sat 
up  in  his  bed  j  *'  I  hate  him  !  And  is  n't  he  mine  ? 
Can't  I  do  what  I  like  with  him  ?  Who  's  to  hinder, 
I  wonder  ?  "  And  Legree  clenched  his  fist,  and 
shook  it,  as  if  he  had  something  in  his  hands  that 
he  could  rend  in  pieces. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  579 

But,  then.  Tom  was  a  faithful,  valuable  servant ; 
and,  although  Legree  hated  him  the  more  for  that, 
yet  the  consideration  was  still  somewhat  of  a  re- 
straint to  him. 

The  next  morning,  he  determined  to  say  nothing,, 
as  yet ;  to  assemble  a  party,  from  some  neighboring- 
plantations,  with  dogs  and  guns  ;  to  surround  the 
swamp,  and  go  about  the  hunt  systematically.  If 
it  succeeded,  well  and  good  ;  if  not  he  would  sum- 
mon Tom  before  him,  and — his  teeth  clenched  and 
his  blood  boiled — then  he  would  break  that  fellow 

down,  or there  was  a  dire  inward  whisper,    to 

which  his  soul  assented. 

Ye  say  that  the  interest  of  the  master  is  a  sufficient 
safeguard  for  the  slave.  In  the  fury  of  man's  mad. 
will,  he  will  wittingly,  and  with  open  eyes,  sell  his 
own  soul  to  the  devil  to  gain  his  ends  ;  and  will  he 
be  more  careful  of  his  neighbor's  body  ? 

"  Well,"  said  Cassy,  the  next  day,  from  the  gar- 
ret, as  she  reconnoitred  through  the  knot-hole,  "  the 
hunt's  going  to  begin  again,  to-day  !  '■ 

Three  or  four  mounted  horsemen  were  curvetting" 
about,  on  the  space  front  of  the  house ;  and  one  or 
two  leashes  of  strange  dogs  were  struggling  with  the 
negroes  who  held  them,  baying  and  barking  at  each- 
other. 

The  men  are,  two  of  them,  overseers  of  planta- 
tions in  the  vicinity ;  and  others  were  some  of  Le- 
gree's  associates  at  the  tavern-bar  of  a  neighboring 
city,  who  had  come  for  the  interest  of  the  sport.  A 
more  hard-favored  set,  perhaps,  could  not  be  im- 
agined. Legree  was  serving  brandy,  profusely, 
round  among  them,  as  also  among  the  negroes,  who 
had  been  detailed  from  the  various  plantations  for 
this  service  ;  for  it  was  an  object  to  make  every 


580  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

service  of  this  kind,  among  the  negroes,  as  much  of 
a  holiday  as  possible. 

Cassy  placed  her  ear  at  the  knot-hole  ;  and,  as 
the  morning  air  blew  directly  towards  the  house, 
she  could  overhear  a  good  deal  of  the  conversation. 
A  grave  sneer  overcast  the  dark,  severe  gravity  of 
her  face,  as  she  listened,  and  heard  them  divide  out 
the  ground,  discuss  the  rival  merits  of  the  dogs, 
give  orders  about  firing,  and  the  treatment  of  each, 
in  case  of  capture. 

Cassy  drew  back  j  and,  clasping  her  hands,  looked 
upward,  and  said,  "  O,  great  Almighty  God  !  we  are 
«#//  sinners ;  but  what  have  we  done,  more  than  all 
the  rest  of  the  world,  that  we  should  be  treated 
so  ? " 

There  was  a  terrible  earnestness  in  her  face  and 
voice,  as  she  spoke. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  you,  child,"  she  said,  looking  at 
Emmeline,  "I'd  go  out  to  them;  and  I'd  thank 
any  one  of  them  that  would  shoot  me  down  ;  for 
what  use  will  freedom  be  to  me  ?  Can  it  give  me 
back  my  children,  or  make  me  what  I  used  to  be  ?  " 

Emmeline,  in  her  child-like  simplicity,  was  half 
afraid  of  the  dark  moods  of  Cassy.  She  looked 
perplexed,  but  made  no  answer.  She  only  took  her 
hand,  with  a  gentle,  caressing  movement. 

"Don't!"  said  Cassy,  trying  to  draw  it  away; 
•"you  '11  get  me  to  loving  you  ;  and  I  never  mean  to 
love  anything,  again  !  " 

"  Poor  Cassy  !  "  said  Emmeline,  "  don  't  feel  so  ! 
If  the  Lord  gives  us  liberty,  perhaps  he  '11  give  you 
back  your  daughter;  at  any  rate,  I'll  be  like  a 
daughter  to  you.  I  know  I  -11  never  see  my  poor 
old  mother  again  !  I  shall  love  you,  Cassy,  whether 
you  love  me  or  not !  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  58 1 

The  gentle,  child-like  spirit  conquered.  Cassy 
sat  down  by  her,  put  her  arm  round  her  neck, 
stroked  her  soft,  brown  hair ;  and  Emmeline  then 
wondered  at  the  beauty  of  her  magnificent  eyes, 
now  soft  with  tears. 

"  O,  Em  ! "  said  Cassy,  "  I  've  hungered  for  my 
children,  and  thirsted  for  them,  and  my  eyes  fail 
with  longing  for  them  !  Here  !  here  !  "  she  said, 
striking  her  breast,  "  it 's  all  desolate,  all  empty ! 
If  God  would  give  me  back  my  children,  then  I 
could  pray." 

"  You  must  trust  him,  Cassy,"  said  Emmeline  ; 
u  he  is  our  Father  !  " 

"His  wrath  is  upon  us,"  said  Cassy;  "he  has 
turned  away  in  anger." 

"  No,  Cassy !  He  will  be  good  to  us  !  Let  us 
hope  in  Him,"  said  Emmeline, — "  I  always  have 
had  hope." 

Ji.  At.  JL      '  JL.  .VA.  .A/.  .At. 

"7V*  TT  "TV  *Jv  -7T  TT  -7T 

The  hunt  was  long,  animated,  and  thorough,  but 
unsuccessful  ;  and,  with  grave,  ironic  exultation, 
Cassy  looked  down  on  Legree,  as,  weary  and  dis- 
pirited, he  alighted  from  his  horse. 

"Now,  Quimbo,"  said  Legree,  as  he  stretched 
himself  down  in  the  sitting-room,  "  you  jest  go  and 
walk  that  Tom  up  here,  right  away  !  The  old  cuss 
is  at  the  bottom  of  this  yer  whole  matter  ;  and  I  '11 
have  it  out  of  his  old  black  hide,  or  I  '11  know  the 
reason  why  !  " 

Sambo  and  Quimbo,  both,  though  hating  each 
other,  were  joined  in  one  mind  by  a  no  less  cordial 
hatred  of  Tom.  Legree  had  told  them,  at  first, 
that  he  had  bought  him  for  a  general  overseer,  in 
his  absence  ;  and  this  had  begun  an  ill  will,  on  their 
part,   which   had  increased,   in  their   debased  and 


582  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

servile  natures,  as  they  saw  him  becoming  obnox- 
ious to  their  master's  displeasure.  Quimbo,  there- 
fore, departed  with  a  will,  to  execute  his  orders. 

Tom  heard  the  message  with  a  forewarning  heart ; 
for  he  knew  all  the  plan  of  the  fugitives'  escape,  and 
the  place  of  their  present  concealment; — he  knew 
the  deadly  character  of  the  man  he  had  to  deal  with, 
and  his  despotic  power.  But  he  felt  strong  in  God 
to  meet  death,  rather  than  betray  the  helpless. 

He  sat  his  basket  down  by  the  row,  and,  looking 
up,  said,  "  Into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit ! 
Thou  hast  redeemed  me,  oh  Lord  God  of  truth  ! " 
and  then  quietly  yielded  himself  to  the  rough,  brutal 
grasp  with  which  Quimbo  seized  him. 

"  Ay,  ay  !  "  said  the  giant,  as  he  dragged  him 
along ;  "  ye  '11  cotch  it,  now  !  I  '11  boun'  Mas'r's 
back 's  up  high  !  No  sneaking  out,  now  !  Tell 
ye,  ye  '11  get  it,  and  no  mistake  !  See  how  ye  '11  look, 
now,  helpin'  Mas'r's  niggers  to  run  away  !  See  what 
ye  '11  get !  " 

The  savage  words  none  of  them  reached  that  ear  I 
— a  higher  voice  there  was  saying,  "  Fear  not  them 
that  kill  the  body,  and,  after  that,  have  no  more 
that  they  can  do."  Nerve  and  bone  of  that  poor 
man's  body  vibrated  to  those  words,  as  if  touched 
by  the  finger  of  God  ;  and  he  felt  the  strength  of  a 
thousand  souls  in  one.  As  he  passed  along,  the 
trees  and  bushes,  the  huts  of  his  servitude,  the 
whole  scene  of  his  degradation,  seemed  to  whirl  by 
him  as  the  landscape  by  the  rushing  car.  His  soul 
throbbed, — his  home  was  in  sight, — and  the  hour 
of  release  seemed  at  hand. 

"  Well,  Tom  !  "  said  Legree,  walking  up,  and  seiz- 
ing him  grimly  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and  speak- 
ing through  his  teeth,  in  a  paroxysm  of  determined 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  583 

rage,  "  do  you  know  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to  kill 
you  ?  " 

"  It 's  very  likely,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  calmly. 

"  I  have"  said  Legree,  with  grim,  terrible  calm- 
ness, "  done— just — that — thing,  Tom,  unless  you  '11 
tell  me  what  you  know  about  these  yer  gals  !  " 

Tom  stood  silent. 

"  D'  ye  hear  ?  "  said  Legree,  stamping,  with  a 
roar  like  that  of  an  incensed  lion.     "  Speak !  "  f 

"  I '  han 7  got nothing  to  tell,  Mas'r"  said  Tom,  with 
a  slow,  firm,  deliberate  utterance. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me,  ye  old  black  Christian, 
ye  don't  know  ?  "  said  Legree. 

Tom  was  silent. 

"  Speak !  "  thundered  Legree,  striking  him  furi- 
ously.    "  Do  you  know  anything  ?  " 

"  I  know,  Mas'r  ;  but  I  can't  tell  anything.  /  can 
die!  " 

Legree  drew  in  a  long  breath ;  and,  suppressing 
his  rage,  took  Tom  by  the  arm,  and,  approaching  his 
face  almost  to  his,  said,  in  a  terrible  voice,  "  Hark  'e, 
Tom  ! — ye  think,  'cause  I  've  let  you  off  before,  I 
don  't  mean  what  I  say  ;  but,  this  time,  I  've  made 
up  my  mind,  and  counted  the  cost.  You  've  always 
stood  it  out  agin'  me  :  now,  I  '11  conquer  ye,  or  kill 
ye  ! — one  or  t'  other.  I  Ml  count  every  drop  of  blood 
there  is  in  you,  and  take  'em,  one  by  one,  till  ye 
give  up  ! " 

Tom  looked  up  to  his  master,  and  answered, 
"  Mas'r,  if  you  was  sick,  or  in  trouble,  or  dying,  and 
I  could  save  ye,  I  'd  give  ye  my  heart's  blood  ;  and, 
if  taking  every  drop  of  blood  in  this  poor  old  body 
would  save  your  precious  soul,  I  'd  give  'em  freely, 
as  the  Lord  gave  his  for  me.  O,  Mas'r  !  don't  bring 
this  great  sin  on  your  soul !     It  will  hurt  you  more 


584  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

than  't  will  rne  !  Do  the  worst  you  can,  my  troubles 
'11  be  over  soon  ;  but,  if  ye  don't  repent,  yours  won't 
never  end  ! " 

Like  a  strange  snatch  of  heavenly  music,  heard 
in  the  lull  of  a  tempest,  this  burst  of  feeling  made 
a  moment's  blank  pause.  Legree  stood  aghast,  and 
looked  at  Tom  ;  and  there  was  such  a  silence,  that 
the  tick  of  the  old  clock  could  be  heard,  measuring,, 
with  silent  touch,  the  last  moments  of  mercy  and 
probation  to  that  hardened  heart. 

It  was  but  a  moment.  There  was  one  hesitating- 
pause. — one  irresolute,  relenting  thrill, — and  the 
spirit  of  evil  came  back,  with  seven-fold  vehemence  ; 
and  Legree,  foaming  with  rage,  smote  his  victim  to> 
the  ground. 

Jfc  .A/,  ,A*„  ,A>  4i-  -AA. 

"Tv"  "7*  (7T  "Tr  */v  TV* 

Scenes  of  blood  and  cruelty  are  shocking  to  our 
ear  and  heart.  What  man  has  nerve  to  do,  man 
has  not  nerve  to  hear.  What  brother-man  and 
brother-Christian  must  suffer,  cannot  be  told  us, 
even  in  our  secret  chamber,  it  so  harrows  up  the 
soul !  And  yet,  oh  my  country !  these  things  are 
done  under  the  shadow  of  thy  laws  !  O,  Christ ! 
thy  church  sees  them,  almost  in  silence  ! 

But,  of  old,  there  was  One  whose  suffering  changed 
an  instrument  of  torture,  degradation  and  shame, 
into  a  symbol  of  glory,  honor,  and  immortal  life; 
and,  where  His  spirit  is,  neither  degrading  stripes, 
nor  blood,  nor  insults,  can  make  the  Christian's  last 
struggle  less  than  glorious. 

Was  he  alone,  that  long  night,  whose  brave,  lov- 
ing spirit  was  bearing  up,  in  that  old  shed,  against 
buffeting  and  brutal  stripes  ? 

Nay  !  There  stood  by  him  One, — seen  by  him 
alone, — "  like  unto  the  Son  of  God." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  585 

The  tempter  stood  by  him,  too, — blinded  by  furi- 
ous, despotic  will, — every  moment  pressing  him  to 
shun  that  agony  by  the  betrayal  of  the  innocent. 
But  the  brave,  true  heart  was  firm  on  the  Eternal 
Rock.  Like  his  Master,  he  knew  that,  if  he  saved 
others,  himself  he  could  not  save  ;  nor  could  utmost 
extremity  wring  from  him  words,  save  of  prayer  and 
holy  trust. 

"  He  's  most  gone,  M as'r,"  said  Sambo,  touched;, 
in  spite  of  himself,  by  the  patience  of  his  victim. 

"  Pay  away,  till  he  gives  up  !  Give  it  to  him  ! — 
give  it  to  him  !  "  shouted  Legree.  "  I  '11  take  every 
drop  of  blood  he  has,  unless  he  confesses  !  " 

Tom  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  upon  his  mas- 
ter. "  Ye  poor  miserable  critter  !  "  he  said,  "  there 
an't  no  more  ye  can  do  !  I  forgive  ye,  with  all  my 
soul  !  "  and  he  fainted  entirely  away. 

"  I  b'lieve,  my  soul,  he  's  done  for,  finally,"  said 
Legree,  stepping  forward,  to  look  at  him.  "  Yes, 
he  is  !  Well,  his  mouth  's  shut  up,  at  last, — that 's 
one  comfort !  " 

Yes,  Legree ;  but  who  shall  shut  up  that  voice  in 
thy  soul  ?  that  soul,  past  repentance,  past  prayer, 
past  hope,  in  whom  the  fire  that  never  shall  be 
quenched  is  already  burning  ! 

Yet  Tom  was  not  quite  gone.  His  wondrous 
words  and  pious  prayers  had  struck  upon  the  hearts 
of  the  imbruted  blacks,  who  had  been  the  instru- 
ments of  cruelty  upon  him  ;  and,  the  instant  Legree 
withdrew,  they  took  him  down,  and,  in  their  igno- 
rance, sought  to  call  him  back  to  life, — as  if  that  were 
any  favor  to  him. 

"  Sartin,  we  's  been  doin'  a  drefful  wicked  thing  !  " 
said  Sambo  ;  "  hopes  Mas'r  '11  have  to  'count  for  it, 
and  not  we." 


586  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

They  washed  his  wounds, — they  provided  a  rude 
bed,  of  some  refuse  cotton,  for  him  to  lie  down  on ; 
and  one  of  them,  stealing  up  to  the  house,  begged 
a  drink  of  brandy  of  Legree,  pretending  that  he  was 
tired,  and  wanted  it  for  himself.  He  brought  it 
back,  and  poured  it  down  Tom's  throat. 

"  O,  Tom  !  '■•  said  Quimbo,  "  we  's  been  awful 
wicked  to  ye  !  " 

"  I  forgive  ye,  with  all  my  heart !  "  said  Tom, 
faintly. 

"  O,  Tom  !  do  tell  us  who  is  Jesus,  anyhow  ? " 
said  Sambo  \ — "  Jesus,  that  's  been  a  standin'  by 
you  so,  all  this  night ! — Who  is  he  ? " 

The  word  roused  the  failing,  fainting  spirit.  He 
poured  forth  a  few  energetic  sentences  of  that 
wondrous  One, — his  life,  his  death,  his  everlasting 
presence,  and  power  to  save. 

They  wept, — both  the  two  savage  men. 

"  Why  did  n't  I  never  hear  this  before  ?  "  said 
Sambo,  "  but  I  do  believe ! — I  can't  help  it  \  Lord 
Jesus,  have  mercy  on  us  !  " 

"  Poor  critters  ! "  said  Tom,  "  I  'd  be  willing  to 
bar  all  I  have,  if  it  '11  only  bring  ye  to  Christ !  O, 
i,ord  !  give  me  these  two  more  souls,  I  pray !  " 

That  prayer  was  answered  ! 

CHAPTER  XLL 

THE    YOUNG    MASTER. 

Two  days  after,  a  young  man  drove  a  light  wagon 
iup  through  the  avenue  of  china-trees,  and,  throwing 
the  reins  hastily  on  the  horses'  neck,  sprang  out  and 
inquired  for  the  owner  of  the  place. 

It  was  George  Shelby  ;  and,  to  show  how  he  came 
to  be  there,  we  must  go  back  in  our  story. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  587 

The  letter  of  Miss  Ophelia  to  Mrs.  Shelby  had, 
by  some  unfortunate  accident,  been  detained,  for  a 
month  or  two,  at  some  remote  post-office  before  it 
reached  its  destination  ■  and,  of  course,  before  it 
was  received,  Tom  was  already  lost  to  view  among 
the  distant  swamps  of  the  Red  river. 

Mrs.  Shelby  read  the  intelligence  with  the  deepest 
concern  :  but  any  immediate  action  upon  it  was  an 
impossibility.  She  was  then  in  attendance  on  the 
sick-bed  of  her  husband,  who  lay  delirious  in  the 
crisis  of  a  fever.  Master  George  Shelby,  who,  in 
the  interval,  had  changed  from  a  boy  to  a  tall  young 
man,  was  her  constant  and  faithful  assistant,  and 
her  only  reliance  in  superintending  his  father's  af- 
fairs. Miss  Ophelia  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
send  them  the  name  of  the  lawyer  who  did  business 
for  the  St.  Clares  ;  and  the  most  that,  in  the  emer- 
gency, could  be  done,  was  to  address  a  letter  of  in- 
quiry to  him.  The  sudden  death  of  Mr.  Shelby,  a 
few  days  after,  brought,  of  course,  an  absorbing 
pressure  of  other  interests  for  a  season. 

Mr.  Shelby  showed  his  confidence  in  his  wife's 
ability  by  appointing  her  sole  executrix  upon  his 
estates  ;  and  thus  immediately  a  large  and  compli- 
cated amount  of  business  was  brought  upon  her 
hands. 

Mrs.  Shelby,  with  characteristic  energy,  applied 
herself  to  the  work  of  straightening  the  entangled  web 
of  affairs  ;  and  she  and  George  were  for  some  time 
occupied  with  collecting  and  examining  accounts, 
selling  property  and  settling  debts,  for  Mrs.  Shelby 
was  determined  that  everything  should  be  brought 
into  tangible  and  recognizable  shape,  let  the  conse- 
quences to  her  prove  what  they  might.  In  the  mean- 
time, they  received  a  letter  from  the  lawyer  to  whom 

39 


588  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Miss  Ophelia  had  referred  them,  saying  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  matter,  that  the  man  was  sold  at  a 
public  auction,  and  that,  beyond  receiving  the  money, 
he  knew  nothing  of  the  affair. 

Neither  George  nor  Mrs.  Shelby  could  be  easy 
at  this  result,  and,  accordingly,  some  six  months 
after,  the  latter,  having  business  for  his  mother, 
down  the  river,  resolved  to  visit  New  Orleans,  in 
person,  and  push  his  inquiries,  in  hopes  of  discover- 
ing Tom's  whereabouts,  and  restoring  him. 

"After  some  months  of  unsuccessful  search,  by  the 
merest  accident,  George  fell  in  with  a. man,  in  New 
Orleans,  who  happened  to  be  possessed  of  the  de- 
sired information  ;  and  with  his  money  in  his  pocket, 
our  hero  took  steamboat  for  Red  river,  resolving  to 
find  out  and  re-purchase  his  old  friend. 

He  was  soon  introduced  into  the  house,  where  he 
found  Legree  in  the  sitting-room. 

Legree  received  the  stranger  with  a  kind  of  surly 
hospitality. 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  young  man,  "  that  you 
bought,  in  New  Orleans,  a  boy,  named  Tom.  He 
used  to  be  on  my  father's  place  and  I  came  to  see 
if  I  could  n't  buy  him  back." 

Legree's  brow  grew  dark,  and  he  broke  out  pas- 
sionately :  "  Yes,  I  did  buy  such  a  fellow, — and  a 
h — 1  of  a  bargain  I  had  of  it,  too  !  The  most  rebel- 
lious, saucy,  impudent  dog  !  Set  up  my  niggers  to 
run  away,  got  off  two  gals,  worth  eight  hundred  or 
a  thousand  dollars  apiece.  He  owned  to  that,  and 
when  I  bid  him  tell  me  where  they  was,  he  up  and 
said  he  knew,  but  he  would  n't  tell,  and  stood  to  it, 
though  I  gave  him  the  cussedest  flogging  I  ever 
gave  nigger  yet.  I  b'lieve  he  's  trying  to  die  ;  but 
I  don't  know  as  he  '11  make  it  out." 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  589 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  said  George,  impetuously.  "  Let 
me  see  him."  The  cheeks  of  the  young  man  were 
crimson,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire  ;  but  he  prudently 
said  nothing,  as  yet. 

"  He  's  in  dat  ar  shed,"  said  a  little  fellow,  who 
stood  holding  George's  horse. 

Legree  kicked  the  boy,  and  swore  at  him  ;  but 
George,  without  saying  another  word,  turned  and 
strode  to  the  spot. 

Tom  had  been  lying  two  days  since  the  fatal 
night;  not  suffering,  for  every  nerve  of  suffering 
was  blunted  and  destroyed.  He  lay,  for  the  most 
part,  in  a  quiet  stupor ;  for  the  laws  of  a  powerful 
and  well-knit  frame  would  not  at  once  release  the 
imprisoned  spirit.  By  stealth,  there  had  been  there, 
in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  poor  desolated  creatures, 
who  stole  from  their  scanty  hours'  rest,  that  they 
might  repay  to  him  some  of  those  ministrations  of 
love  in  which  he  had  always  been  so  abundant. 
Truly,  those  poor  disciples  had  little  to  give, — only 
the  cup  of  cold  water ;  but  it  was  given  with  full 
hearts. 

Tears  had  fallen  on  that  honest,  insensible  face, — 
tears  of  late  repentance  in  the  poor,  ignorant  hea- 
then, whom  his  dying  love  and  patience  had  awak- 
ened to  repentance,  and  bitter  prayers,  breathed 
over  him  to  a  late-found  Saviour,  of  whom  they 
scarce  knew  more  than  the  name,  but  whom  the 
yearning  ignorant  heart  of  man  never  implores  in 
vain. 

Cassy,  who  had  glided  out  of  her  place  of  con- 
cealment, and,  by  over-hearing,  learned  the  sacrifice 
that  had  been  made  for  her  and  Emmeline,  had  been 
there,  the  night  before,  defying  the  danger  of  detec- 
tion ;  and,  moved  by  the  few  last  words  which  the 


59°  UNCLE    TOM  S    CABIN  :    OR, 

affectionate  soul  had  yet  strength  to  breathe,  the 
long  winter  of  despair,  the  ice  of  years,  had  given 
way,  and  the  dark,  despairing  woman  had  wept 
and  prayed. 

When  George  entered  the  shed,  he  felt  his  head 
giddy  and  his  heart  sick. 

"  Is  it  possible, — is  it  possible  ?  "  said  he,  kneel- 
ing down  by  him.  "  Uncle  Tom,  my  poor,  poor  old 
friend  !  " 

Something  in  the  voice  penetrated  to  the  ear  of 
the  dying.  He  moved  his  head  gently,  smiled,  and 
said, 

Jesus  can  make  a   dying-bed 
Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are." 

Tears  which  did  honor  to  his  manly  heart  fell 
from  the  young  man's  eyes,  as  he  bent  over  his  poor 
friend. 

"  O,  dear  Uncle  Tom  !  do  wake, — do  speak  once 
more  !  Look  up  !  Here  's  Mas'r  George, — your 
own  little  Mas'r  George.     Don't  you  know  me  ? " 

"  Mas'r  George  !  "  said  Tom,  opening  his  eyes, 
and  speaking  in  a  feeble  voice  ;  "  Mas'r  George  !  " 
He  looked  bewildered. 

Slowly  the  idea  seemed  to  fill  his  soul ;  and  the 
vacant  eye  became  fixed  and  brightened,  the  whole 
face  lighted  up,  the  hard  hands  clasped,  and  tears 
ran  down  the  cheeks. 

"  Bless  the  Lord  !  it  is, — it  is, — it 's  all  I  wanted  ! 
They  have  n't  forgot  me.  It  warms  my  soul ;  it 
does  my  old  heart  good  !  Now  I  shall  die  content ! 
Bless  the  Lord,  oh  my  soul ! " 

"  You  shan't  die  !  you  must  n't  die,  nor  think  of 
it !  I  've  come  to  buy  you,  and  take  you  home," 
said  George,  with  impetuous  vehemence. 

"  O,  Mas'r  George,  ye  're  too  late.     The  Lord  's 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  59 1 

bought  me,  and  is  going  to  take  me  home, — and  I 
long  to  go.     Heaven  is  better  than  Kintuck." 

"  O,  don't  die  !  It  '11  kill  me  !— it  '11  break  my 
heart  to  think  what  you  5ve  suffered, — and  lying  in 
this  old  shed,  here  !     Poor,  poor  fellow  !  " 

"  Don't  call  me  poor  fellow ! ''  said  Tom,  solemnly. 
"  I  have  been  poor  fellow ;  but  that 's  all  past  and 
gone,  now.  I  'm  right  in  the  door,  going  into  glory  ! 
O,  Mas'r  George!  Heaven  has  come!  I've  got 
the  victory  ! — the  Lord  Jesus  has  given  it  to  me  ! 
Glory  be  to  His  name !  " 

George  was  awe-struck  at  the  force,  the  vehe- 
mence, the  power,  with  which  these  broken  sentences 
were  uttered.     He  sat  gazing  in  silence. 

•Tom  grasped  his  hand,  and  continued, — "Ye 
must  n't,  now,  tell  Chloe,  poor  soul !  how  ye  found 
me  ; —  'twould  be  so  drefful  to  her.  Only  tell  her 
ye  found  me  going  into  glory  ;  and  that  I  could  n't 
stay  for  no  one.  And  tell  her  the  Lord 's  stood  by 
me  everywhere  and  al'ays,  and  made  everything  light 
and  easy.  And  oh,  the  poor  chil'en,  and  the  baby ! 
— my  old  heart 's  been  most  broke  for  'em,  time 
and  agin  !  Tell  'em  all  to  follow  me — follow  me  ! 
Give  my  love  to  Mas'r,  and  dear  good  Missis,  and 
everybody  in  the  place  !  Ye  don't  know  !  'Pears 
like  I  loves  'em  all !  I  loves  every  creatur',  every- 
whar  ! — it 's  nothing  but  love  !  O,  Mas'r  George  ! 
what  a  thing  't  is  to  be  a  Christian  !  " 

At  this  moment,  Legree  sauntered  up  to  the  door 
of  the  shed,  looked  in,  with  a  dogged  air  of  affected 
carelessness,  and  turned  away. 

"  The  old  satan  !  "  said  George,  in  his  indignation. 
"  It 's  a  comfort  to  think  the  devil  will  pay  him  for 
this,  some  of  these  days  !  " 

"  O,  don't  ! — oh,  ye  must  n't !  "  said  Tom,  grasp- 


592  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

ing  his  hand  ;  "  he  's  a  poor  mis'able  critter  !  it 's 
awful  to  think  on  't !  O,  if  he  only  could  repent, 
the  Lord  would  forgive  him  now ;  but  I  'm  'feared 
he  never  will !  " 

"  I  hope  he  won't !  "  said  George  ;  "  I  never  want 
to  see  him  in  heaven  !  " 

"  Hush,  Mas'r  George  ! — it  worries  me  !  Don't 
feel  so !  He  an't  done  me  no  real  harm, — only 
opened  the  gate  of  the  kingdom  for  me ;  that 's 
all !  " 

At  this  moment,  the  sudden  flush  of  strength 
"which  the  joy  of  meeting  his  young  master  had  in- 
fused into  the  dying  man  gave  way.  A  sudden 
sinking  fell  upon  him  ;  he  closed  his  eyes  ;  and  that 
mysterious  and  sublime  change  passed  over  his  face, 
that  told  the  approach  of  other  worlds. 

He  began  to  draw  his  breath  with  long,  deep 
inspirations ;  and  his  broad  chest  rose  and  fell, 
heavily.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  that  of  a 
conqueror. 

•"  Who, — who, — who  shall  separate  us  from  the 
love  of  Christ  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  contended 
with  mortal  weakness  ;  and,  with  a  smile,  he  fell 
asleep. 

George  sat  fixed  with  solemn  awe.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  place  was  holy  ;  and,  as  he  closed  the 
lifeless  eyes,  and  rose  up  from  the  dead,  only  one 
thought  possessed  him, — that  expressed  by  his  sim- 
ple old  friend, — "  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian !  " 

He  turned  :  Legree  was  standing,  sullenly,  behind 
liim. 

Something  in  that  dying  scene  had  checked  the 
natural  fierceness  of  youthful  passion.  The  presence 
of  the  man  was  simply  loathsome  to  George  ;  and 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  593 

he  felt  only  an  impulse  to  get  away  from  him,  with 
as  few  words  as  possible. 

Fixing  his  keen  dark  eyes  on  Legree,  he  simply 
said,  pointing  to  the  dead,  "  You  have  got  all  you 
^ver  can  of  him.  What  shall  I  pay  you  for  the 
body  ?     I  will  take  it  away,  and  bury  it  decently." 

"  I  don't  sell  dead  niggers,"  said  Legree,  doggedly. 
"You  are  welcome  to  bury  him  where  and  when 
you  like." 

"  Boys,"  said  George,  in  an  authoritative  tone,  to 
two  or  three  negroes,  who  were  looking  at  the  body, 
*'  help  me  lift  him  up,  and  carry  him  to  my  wagon ; 
and  get  me  a  spade." 

One  of  them  ran  for  a  spade ;  the  other  two 
assisted  George  to  carry  the  body  to  the  wagon. 

George  neither  spoke  to  nor  looked  at  Legree, 
-who  did  not  countermand  his  orders,  but  stood, 
"whistling,  with  an  air  of  forced  unconcern.  He 
sulkily  followed  them  to  where  the  wagon  stood  at 
the  door.     . 

George  spread  his  cloak  in  the  wagon,  and  had 
the  body  carefully  disposed  of  in  it, — moving  the 
seat,  so  as  to  give  it  room.  Then  he  turned,  fixed 
his  eyes  on  Legree,  and  said,  with  forced  com- 
posure, 

"  I  have  not,  as-  yet,  said  to  you  what  I  think  of 
this  most  atrocious  affair  ; — this  is  not  the  time  and 
place.  But,  sir,  this  innocent  blood  shall  have  jus- 
tice. I  will  proclaim  this  murder.  I  will  go  to  the 
very  first  magistrate,  and  expose  you." 

"  Do  !  "  said  Legree,  snapping  his  fingers,  scorn- 
fully. "  I  'd  like  to  see  you  doing  it.  Where  you 
going  to  get  witnesses  ? — how  you  going  to  prove 
it  ? — Come,  now !  " 

George  saw,  at  once,  the  force  of  this  defiance. 


594  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

There  was  not  a  white  person  on  the  place ;  and,  in 
all  southern  courts,  the  testimony  of  colored  blood 
is  nothing.  He  felt,  at  that  moment,  as  if  he  could 
have  rent  the  heavens  with  his  heart's  indignant 
cry  for  justice  ;  but  in  vain. 

"  After  all,  what  a  fuss,  for  a  dead  nigger !  "  said 
Legree. 

The  word  was  as  a  spark  to  a  powder  magazine. 
Prudence  was  never  a  cardinal  virtue  of  the  Ken- 
tucky boy.  George  turned,  and,  with  one  indignant 
blow,  knocked  Legree  flat  upon  his  face  ;  and,  as 
he  stood  over  him,  blazing  with  wrath  and  defiance, 
he  would  have  formed  no  bad  personification  of  his 
great  namesake  triumphing  over  the  dragon. 

Some  men,  however,  are  decidedly  bettered  by 
being  knocked  down.  If  a  man  lays  them  fairly  flat 
in  the  dust,  they  seem  immediately  to  conceive  a 
respect  for  him ;  and  Legree  was  one  of  this  sort. 
As  he  rose,  therefore,  and  brushed  the  dust  from  his 
clothes,  he  eyed  the  slowly-retreating  wagon  with 
some  evident  consideration  ;  nor  did  he  open  his 
mouth  till  it  was  out  of  sight. 

Beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  plantation,  George 
had  noticed  a  dry,  sandy  knoll,  shaded  by  a  few 
trees  :  there  they  made  the  grave. 

"  Shall  we  take  off  the  cloak,  Mas'r  ?  "  said  the 
negroes,  when  the  grave  was  ready. 

"  No,  no, — bury  it  with  him  !  It 's  all  I  can  give 
you,  now,  poor  Tom,  and  you  shall  have  it." 

They  laid  him  in  ;  and  the  men  shovelled  away, 
silently.  They  banked  it  up,  and  laid  green  turf 
over  it. 

"  You  may  go,  boys,"  said  George,  slipping  a 
quarter  into  the  hand  of  each.  They  lingered  about, 
however. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  595 

If  young   Mas'r  would  please   buy  us — "  said- 
one. 

"  We  'd  serve  him  so  faithful  !  "  said  the  other. 

"  Hard  times  here,  Mas'r  !  "  said  the  first.  "  Do,, 
Mas'r,  buy  us,  please  ! '" 

"  I  can't ! — I  can't !  "  said  George,  with  difficulty- 
motioning  them  off  ;  "  it 's  impossible  !  " 

The  poor  fellows  looked  dejected,  and  walked  off 
in  silence. 

"  Witness,  eternal  God  !  "  said  George,  kneeling- 
on  the  grave  of  his  poor  friend ;  "  oh,  witness,  that, 
from  this  hour,  I  will  do  what  one  man  can  to  drive 
out  this  curse  of  slavery  from  my  land !  " 

There  is  no  monument  to  mark  the  last  resting- 
place  of  our  friend.  He  needs  none  !  His  Lord 
knows  where  he  lies,  and  will  raise  him  up,  immor- 
tal, to  appear  with  him  when  he  shall  appear  in  his 
glory. 

Pity  him  not !  Such  a  life  and  death  is  not  for 
pity  !  Not  in  the  riches  of  omnipotence  is  the  chief 
glory  of  God ;  but  in  self-denying  suffering  love  ! 
And  blessed  are  the  men  whom  he  calls  to  fellow 
ship  with  him,  bearing  their  cross  after  him  with 
patience.  Of  such  it  is  written,  "  Blessed  are  they 
that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted," 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AN     AUTHENTIC     GHOST     STORY. 

For  some  remarkable  reason,  ghostly  legends  were 
uncommonly  rife,  about  this  time,  among  the  serv- 
ants on  Legree's  place. 

It  was  whisperingly  asserted  that  footsteps,  in  the 
dead  of  night,  had  been  heard  descending  the  garret 


596  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

stairs,  and  patrolling  the  house.  In  vain  the  doors 
of  the  upper  entry  had  been  locked  ;  the  ghost  either 
•carried  a  duplicate  key  in  its  pocket,  or  availed  itself 
•of  a  ghost's  immemorial  privilege  of  coming  through 
the  keyhole,  and  promenaded  as  before,  with  a  free- 
dom that  was  alarming. 

Authorities  were  somewhat  divided,  as  to  the  out- 
ward form  of  the  spirit,  owing  to  a  custom  quite 
prevalent  among  negroes, — and,  for  aught  we  know, 
among  whites,  too, — of  invariably  shutting  the  eyes, 
and  covering  up  heads  under  blankets,  petticoats,  or 
•whatever  else  might  come  in  use  for  a  shelter,  on 
these  occasions.  Of  course,  as  everybody  knows, 
■when  the  bodily  eyes  are  thus  out  of  the  lists,  the 
spiritual  eyes  are  uncommonly  vivacious  and  per- 
spicuous ;  and,  therefore,  there  were  abundance  of 
full-length  portraits  of  the  ghost,  abundantly  sworn 
and  testified  to,  which,  as  is  often  the  case  with  por- 
traits, agreed  with  each  other  in  no  particular,  ex- 
cept the  common  family  peculiarity  of  the  ghost  tribe, 
— the  wearing  of  a  white  sheet.  The  poor  souls  were 
not  versed  in  ancient  history,  and  did  not  know  that 
Shakspeare  had  authenticated  this  costume,  by  tell- 
ing how 

"  The  sheeted  dead 

Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  streets  of  Rome." 

And,  therefore,  their  all  hitting  upon  this  is  a  strik- 
ing fact  in  pneumatology,  which  we  recommend  to 
the  attention  of  spiritual  media  generally. 

Be  it  as  it  may,  we  have  private  reasons  for  know- 
ing that  a  tall  figure  in  a  white  sheet  did  walk,  at 
the  most  approved  ghostly  hours,  around  the  Legree 
premises, — pass  out  the  doors,  glide  about  the 
house; — disappear  at  intervals,  and,  reappearing, 
pass  up  the  silent  stair-way,  into  that  fatal  garret ; 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  597 

and  that,  >in  the  morning,  the  entry  doors  were  all 
found  shut  and  locked  as  firm  as  ever. 

Legree  could  not  help  overhearing  this  whisper- 
ing ;  and  it  was  all  the  more  exciting  to  him,  from 
the  pains  that  were  taken  to  conceal  it  from  him. 
He  drank  more  brandy  than  usual ;  held  up  his  head 
briskly,  and  swore  louder  than  ever  in  the  day-time  ; 
but  he  had  bad  dreams,  and  the  visions  of  his  head 
on  his  bed  were  anything  but  agreeable.  The  night 
after  Tom's  body  had  been  carried  away,  he  rode  to 
the  >nexi  town  for  a  carouse,  and  had  a  high  one. 
Got  home  late  and  tired  ;  locked  his  door,  took  out 
the  "key,  and  went  to  bed. 

After  all,  let  a  man  take  what  pains  he  may  to 
liush  it  down,  a  human  soul  is  an  awful  ghostly,  un- 
quiet possession,  for  a  bad  man  to  have.  Who  knows 
the  metes  and  bounds  of  it  ?  Who  knows  all  its  aw- 
ful perhapses, — those  shudderings  and  tremblings, 
•which  it  can  no  more  live  down  than  it  can  outlive 
its  own  eternity  !  What  a  fool  is  he  who  locks  his 
door  to  keep  out  spirits,  who  has  in  his  own  bosom 
•a  spirit  he  dares  not  meet  alone, — whose  voice, 
.smothered  far  down,  and  piled  over  with  mountains 
of  earthliness,  is  yet  like  the  forewarning  trumpet  of 
■doom ! 

But  Legree  locked  his  door  and  set  a  chair  against 
it ;  he  set  a  night-lamp  at  the  head  of  his  bed  ;  and 
iie  put  his  pistols  there.  He  examined  the  catches 
and  fastenings  of  the  windows,  and  then  swore  he 
*'  did  n't  care  for  the  devil  and  all  his  angels/'  and 
■went  to  sleep. 

Well,  he  slept,  for  he  was  tired, — slept  soundly. 
But,  finally,  there  came  over  his  sleep  a  shadow,  a 
2iorror,  an  apprehension  of  something  dreadful 
hanging  over  him.     It  was  his  mother's  shroud,  he 


598  UNCLE  tom's   CABIN  :   OR, 

thought ;  but  Cassy  had  it,  holding  it  up,  and  show- 
ing it  to  him.  He  heard  a  confused  noise  of  screams 
and  groanings ;  and,  with  it  all,  he  knew  he  was. 
asleep,  and  he  struggled  to  wake  himself.  He  was 
half  awake.  He  was  sure  something  was  coming; 
into  his  room.  He  knew  the  door  was  opening,  but 
he  could  not  stir  hand  or  foot.  At  last  he  turned, 
with  a  start;  the  door  was  open,  and  he  saw  a  hand 
putting  out  his  light. 

It  was  a  cloudy,  misty  moonlight,  and  there  he 
saw  it ! — something  white  gliding  in  !  He  heard  the 
still  rustle  of  its  ghostly  garments.  It  stood  still  by 
his  bed  ; — a  cold  hand  touched  his  ;  a  voice  said, 
three  times,  in  a  low,  fearful  whisper,  "  Come  I 
come  !  come  ! "  And,  while  he  lay  sweating  with 
terror,  he  knew  not  when  or  how  the  thing  was  gone. 
He  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  pulled  at  the  door.  It 
was  shut  and  locked,  and  the  man  fell  down  in  a 
swoon. 

After  this,  Legree  became  a  harder  drinker  than 
ever  before.  He  no  longer  drank  cautiously,  pru- 
dently, but  imprudently  and  recklessly. 

There  were  reports  around  the  country,  soon  after, 
that  he  was  sick  and  dying.  Excess  had  brought 
on  that  frightful  disease  that  seems  to  throw  the 
lurid  shadows  of  a  coming  retribution  back  into  the 
present  life.  None  could  bear  the  horrors  of  that 
sick  room,  when  he  raved  and  screamed,  and  spoke 
of  sights  which  almost  stopped  the  blood  of  those 
who  heard  him  ;  and,  at  his  dying  bed,  stood  a  stern, 
white,  inexorable  figure,  saying,  "  Come  !  come  t 
come !  " 

By  a  singular  coincidence,  on  the  very  night  that 
this  vision  appeared  to  Legree,  the  house-door  was 
found  open  in  the  morning,  and  some  of  the  negroes 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  599 

had  seen  two  white  figures  gliding  down  the  avenue 
towards  the  high-road. 

It  was  near  sunrise  when  Cassy  and  Emmeline 
paused,  for  a  moment,  in  a  little  knot  of  trees  near 
the  town. 

Cassy  was  dressed  after  the  manner  of  the  Creole 
Spanish  ladies, — wholly  in  black.  A  small  black 
"bonnet  on  her  head,  covered  by  a  veil  thick  with 
embroidery,  concealed  her  face.  It  had  been  agreed 
that,  in  their  escape,  she  was  to  personate  the  char- 
acter of  a  Creole  lady,  and  Emmeline  that  of  her 
servant. 

Brought  up,  from  early  life,  in  connection  with 
the  highest  society,  the  language,  movements  and 
air  of  Cassy,  were  all  in  agreement  with  this  idea  ; 
and  she  had  still  enough  remaining  with  her,  of  a 
once  splendid  wardrobe,  and  sets  of  jewels,  to  en- 
able her  to  personate  the  thing  to  advantage. 

She  stopped  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where 
she  had  noticed  trunks  for  sale,  and  purchased  a 
handsome  one.  This  she  requested  the  man  to  send 
along  with  her.  And,  accordingly,  thus  escorted  by 
a  boy  wheeling  her  trunk,  and  Emmeline  behind  her, 
carrying  her  carpet-bag  and  sundry  bundles,  she 
made  her  appearance  at  the  small  tavern,  like  a  lady 
of  consideration. 

The  first  person  that  struck  her,  after  her  arrival, 
was  George  Shelby,  who  was  staying  there,  awaiting 
the  next  boat. 

Cassy  had  remarked  the  young  man  from  her  loop- 
hole in  the  garret,  and  seen  him  bear  away  the  body 
of  Tom,  and  observed,  with  secret  exultation,  his  ren- 
contre with  Legree.  Subsequently,  she  had  gathered, 
from  the  conversations  she  had  overheard  among  the 
negroes,  as  she  glided  about  in  her  ghostly  disguise, 


600  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

after  nightfall,  who  he  was,  and  in  what  relation  he 
stood  to  Tom.  She,  therefore,  felt  an  immediate 
accession  of  confidence,  when  she  found  that  he; 
was,  like  herself,  awaiting  the  next  boat. 

Cassy's  air  and  manner,  address,  and  evident 
command  of  money,  prevented  any  rising  disposi- 
tion to  suspicion  in  the  hotel.  People  never  inquire 
too  closely  into  those  who  are  fair  on  the  main  pointr 
of  paying  well, — a  thing  which  Cassy  had  foreseen, 
when  she  provided  herself  with  money. 

In  the  edge  of  the  evening,  a  boat  was  heard  com- 
ing along,  and  George  Shelby  handed  Cassy  aboard,, 
with  the  politeness  which  comes  naturally  to  every 
Kentuckian,  and  exerted  himself  to  provide  her  with. 
a  good  state-room. 

Cassy  kept  her  room  and  bed,  on  pretext  of  illnessr 
during  the  whole  time  they  were  on  Red  river  ;  and 
was  waited  on,  with  obsequious  devotion,  by  her  at- 
tendant. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Mississippi  river,  George,, 
having  learned  that  the  course  of  the  strange  lady- 
was  upward,  like  his  own,  proposed  to  take  a  state- 
room for  her  on  the  same  boat  with  himself, — good- 
naturedly  compassionating  her  feeble  health,  and 
desirous  to  do  what  he  could  to  assist  her. 

Behold,  therefore,  the  whole  party  safely  trans- 
ferred to  the  good  steamer  Cincinnati,  and  sweeping: 
up  the  river  under  a  powerful  head  of  steam. 

Cassy's  health  was  much  better.  She  sat  upon 
the  guards,  came  to  the  table,  and  was  remarked 
upon  in  the  boat  as  a  lady  that  must  have  been  very- 
handsome. 

From  the  moment  that  George  got  the  first  glimpse 
of  her  face,  he  was  troubled  with  one  of  those  fleet- 
ing and  indefinite  likenesses,  which  almost  every- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  6oi 

body  can  remember,  and  has  been,  at  times  per- 
plexed with.  He  could  not  keep  himself  from  look- 
ing at  her,  and  watching  her  perpetually.  At  table,, 
or  sitting  at  her  state-room  door,  still  she  would  en- 
counter the  young  man's  eyes  fixed  on  her,  an& 
politely  withdrawn,  when  she  showed,  by  her  coun- 
tenance, that  she  was  sensible  of  the  observation. 

Cassy  became  uneasy.  She  began  to  think  that 
he  suspected  something ;  and  finally  resolved  to 
throw  herself  entirely  on  his  generosity,  and  intrusted 
him  with  her  whole  history. 

George  was  heartily  disposed  to  sympathize  with 
any  one  who  had  escaped  from  Legree's  plantation, 
— a  place  that  he  could  not  remember  or  speak  of 
with  patience, — and,  with  the  courageous  disregard  of 
consequenences  with  is  characteristic  of  his  age  and 
state,  he  assured  her  that  he  would  do  all  in  his 
power  to  protect  and  bring  them  through.. 

The  next  state-room  to  C assy's  was  occupied  by 
a  French  lady,  named  De  Thoux,  who  was:  accom- 
panied by  a  fine  little  daughter,  a  child  oi  some 
twelve  summers. 

This  lady,  having  gathered,  from  George's  con- 
versation, that  he  was  from  Kentucky,  seemed  evi- 
dently disposed  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance  ;  in 
which  design  she  was  seconded  by  the  graces  of  her 
little  girl,  who  was  about  as  pretty  a  plaything  as 
ever  diverted  the  weariness  of  a  fortnight's  trip  on  a 
steamboat. 

.  George's  chair  was  often  placed  at  her  state-room 
door ;  and  Cassy,  as  she  sat  upon  the  guards,  could 
hear  their  conversation. 

Madame  de  Thoux  was  very  minute  in  her  in- 
quiries as  to  Kentucky,  where  she  said  she  had 
resided  in  a  former  period  of  her  life.     George  dis- 


6o2  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

covered,  to  his  surprise,  that  her  former  residence 
inust  have  been  in  his  own  vicinity  ;  and  her  in- 
quiries showed  a  knowledge  of  people  and  things 
in  his  region,  that  was  perfectly  surprising  to 
him. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Madame  de  Thoux  to  him, 
one  day,  "  of  any  man,  in  your  neighborhood,  of  the 
name  of  Harris  ?  " 

"  There  is  an  old  fellow,  of  that  name,  lives  not 
far  from  my  father's  place,"  said  George.  "We 
never  have  had  much  intercourse  with  him,  though." 

"  He  is  a  large  slave-owner,  I  believe,"  said 
Madame  de  Thoux,  with  a  manner  which  seemed 
to  betray  more  interest  than  she  was  exactly  willing 
to  show. 

"  He  is,"  said  George,  looking  rather  surprised  at 
her  manner. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  of  his  having — perhaps, 
you  may  have  heard  of  his  having  a  mulatto  boy, 
named  George  ? " 

"  O,  certainly, — George  Harris, — I  know  him 
well ;  he  married  a  servant  of  my  mother's,  but  has 
escaped,  now,  to  Canada." 

"  He  has  ? "  said  Madame  de  Thoux,  quickly. 
"  Thank  God  !  " 

George  looked  a  surprised  inquiry,  but  said  noth- 
ing. 

Madame  de  Thoux  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"He  is  my  brother,"  she  said. 

"  Madame  !  "  said  George,  with  a  strong  accent 
of  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madame  de  Thoux,  lifting  her  head, 
proudly,  and  wiping  her  tears  ;  "  Mr.  Shelby,  George 
Harris  is  my  brother  !  " 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  603 

"  I  am  perfectly  astonished,"  said  George,  push- 
ing back  his  chair  a  pace  or  two,  and  looking  at 
Madame  de  Thoux. 

"  I  was  sold  to  the  South  when  he  was  a  boy," 
said  she.  "  I  was  bought  by  a  good  and  generous 
man.  He  took  me  with  him  to  the  West  Indies, 
set  me  free,  and  married  me.  It  is  but  lately  that 
he  died  ;  and  I  was  coming  up  to  Kentucky,  to  see 
if  I  could  find  and  redeem  my  brother." 

"  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  a  sister  Emily,  that 
was  sold  South,"  said  George. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  I  am  the  one,"  said  Madame  de 
Thoux  ; — "tell  me  what  sort  of  a " 

"  A  very  fine  young  man,"  said  George,  "  not- 
withstanding the  curse  of  slavery  that  lay  on  him. 
He  sustained  a  first  rate  character,  both  for  intelli- 
gence and  principle.  I  know,  you  see,"  he  said  ; 
ff  because  he  married  in  our  family." 

"  What  sort  of  a  girl  ? "  said  Madame  de  Thoux, 
eagerly. 

"  A  treasure,"  said  George  ;  "  a  beautiful,  intelli- 
gent, amiable  girl.  Very  pious.  My  mother  had 
brought  her  up,  and  trained  her  as  carefully,  almost, 
as  a  daughter.  She  could  read  and  write,  embroider 
and  sew,  beautifully;  and  was  a  beautiful  singer." 

"Was  she  born  in  your  house?"  said  Madame 
de  Thoux. 

"  No.  Father  bought  her  once,  in  one  of  his 
trips  to  New  Orleans,  and  brought  her  up  as  a  pres- 
ent to  mother.  She  was  about  eight  or  nine  years 
old,  then.  Father  would  never  tell  mother  what  he 
gave  for  her  ;  but,  the  other  day,  in  looking  over 
his  old  papers,  we  came  across  the  bill  of  sale.  He 
paid  an  extravagant  sum  for  her,  to  be  sure.  I 
suppose,  on  account  of  her  extraordinary  beauty. " 
40 


604  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

George  sat  with  his  back  to  Cassy,  and  did  not 
see  the  absorbed  expression  of  her  countenance,  as. 
he  was  giving  these  details. 

At  this  point  in  the  story,  she  touched  his  arm,, 
and,  with  a  face  perfectly  white  with  interest,  said, 
"  Do  you  know  the  names  of  the  people  he  bought 
her  of?" 

"  A  man  of  the  name  of  Simmons,  I  think,  was 
the  principal  in  the  transaction.  At  least,  I  think 
that  was  the  name  on  the  bill  of  sale." 

"  O,  my  God  !  "  said  Cassy,  and  fell  insensible 
on  the  floor  of  the  cabin. 

George  was  wide  awake  now,  and  so  was  Madame 
de  Thoux.  Though  neither  of  them  could  conject- 
ure what  was  the  cause  of  Cassy 's  fainting,  still  they 
made  all  the  tumult  which  is  proper  in  such  cases ;. 
— George  upsetting  a  wash-pitcher,  and  breaking 
two  tumblers,  in  the  warmth  of  his  humanity ;  and 
various  ladies  in  the  cabin,  hearing  that  somebody 
had  fainted,  crowded  the  state-room  door,  and  kept 
out  all  the  air  they  possibly  could,  so  that,  on  the 
whole,  everything  was  done  that  could  be  expected. 

Poor  Cassy!  when  she  recovered,  turned  her  face 
to  the  wall,  and  wept  and  sobbed  like  a  child, — per- 
haps, mother,  you  can  tell  what  she  was  thinking 
of  !  Perhaps  you  cannot, — but  she  felt  as  sure,  irt 
that  hour,  that  God  had  had  mercy  on  her,  and  that 
she  should  see  her  daughter, — as  she  did,  months 
afterwards, — when — but  we  anticipate. 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

RESULT?- 

The  rest  of  our  story  is  soon  told.  George  Shelby,, 
interested,  as  any  other  young  man  might  be,  by  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  6ot 

4  3 

romance  of  the  incident,  no  less  than  by  feelings  of 
humanity,  was  at  the  pains  to  send  to  Cassy  the  bill 
of  sale  of  Eliza ;  whose  date  and  name  all  corre- 
sponded with  her  own  knowledge  of  facts,  and  left 
no  doubt  upon  her  mind  as  to  the  identity  of  her 
child.  It  remained  now  only  for  her  to  trace  out 
the  path  of  the  fugitives. 

Madame  de  Thoux  and  she,  thus  drawn  together 
by  the  singular  coincidence  of  their  fortunes,,  pro- 
ceeded immediately  to  Canada,  and  began  a  tour  of 
inquiry  among  the  stations,  where  the  numerous 
fugitives  from  slavery  are  located.  At  Amherstberg 
they  found  the  missionary  with  whom  George  and 
Eliza  had  taken  shelter,  on  their  first  arrival  m 
Canada  ;  and  through  him  were  enabled  to  trace  the 
family  to  Montreal. 

George  and  Eliza  had  now  been  five  years  free. 
George  had  found  constant  occupation  in  the  shop 
of  a  worthy  machinist,  where  he  had  been  earning 
a  competent  support  for  his  family,  which,  in  the 
mean  time,  had  been  increased  by  the  addition  of 
another  daughter. 

Little  Harry — a  fine  bright  boy — had  been  put  to 
a  good  school,  and  was  making  rapid  proficiency  in 
knowledge. 

The  worthy  pastor  of  the  station,  in  Amherst- 
berg, where  George  had  first  landed,  was  so  much 
interested  in  the  statements  of  Madame  de  Thoux 
and  Cassy,  that  he  yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  the 
former,  to  accompany  them  to  Montreal,  in  their 
search, — she  bearing  all  the  expense  of  the  ex- 
pedition. * 

The  scene  now  changes  to  a  small,  neat  tenement, 
in  the  outskirts  of  Montreal ;  the  time,  evening.  A 
cheerful  fire  blazes  on  the  hearth  ;  a  tea-table,  cov- 


606  .uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

ered  with  a  snowy  cloth,  stands  prepared  for  the 
evening  meal.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a 
table  covered  with  a  green  cloth,  where  was  an  open 
writing-desk,  pens,  paper,  and  over  it  a  shelf  of 
well-selected  books. 

This  was  George's  study.  The  same  zeal  for 
self-improvement,  which  led  him  to  steal  the  much 
coveted  arts  of  reading  and  writing,  amid  all  the 
toils  and  discouragements  of  his  early  life,  still  led 
him  to  devote  all  his  leisure  time  to  self-cultivation. 

At  this  present  time,  he  is  seated  at  the  table, 
making  notes  from  a  volume  of  the  family  library 
he  has  been  reading. 

"  Come,  George,"  says  Eliza,  "you've  been  gone 
all  day.  Do  put  down  that  book,  and  let 's  talk, 
while  I  'm  getting  tea, — do." 

And  little  Eliza  seconds  the  effort,  by  toddling  up 
to  her  father,  and  trying  to  pull  the  book  out  of  his 
hand,  and  install  herself  on  his  knee  as  a  substitute. 

"  O,  you  little  witch  !  "  says  George,  yielding,  as, 
in  such  circumstances,  man  always  must. 

"  That 's  right,"  says  Eliza,  as  she  begins  to  cut 
a  loaf  of  bread.  A  little  older  she  looks  ;  her  form 
a  little  fuller  ;  her  air  more  matronly  than  of  yore ; 
but  evidently  contented  and  happy  as  woman  need 
be. 

"  Harry,  my  boy,  how  did  you  come  on  in  that  sum, 
to-day  ? "  says  George,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  his 
son's  head. 

Harry  has  lost  his  long  curls  ;  but  he  can  never 
lose  those  eyes  and  eyelashes,  and  that  line,  bold 
brow,  that  flushes  with  triumph,  as  he  answers,  "  I 
did  it,  every  bit  of  it,  myself,  father  ;  and  nobody 
helped  me  !  " 

"  That 's    right,"    says    his   father ;  "  depend  on 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY..  607 

yourself,  my  son.     You  have  a  better  chance  than 
ever  your  poor  father  had." 

At  this  moment,  there  is  a  rap  at  the  door  ;  and 
Eliza  goes  and  opens  it.  The  delighted — "  Why  ! — - 
this  you  ?  " —  calls  up  her  husband ;  and  the  good, 
pastor  of  Amherstberg  is  welcomed.  There  are 
two  more  women  with  him,  and  Eliza  askes  them  to- 
sit  down. 

Now,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  honest  pastor 
had  arranged  a  little  programme,  according  to  which 
this  affair  was  to  develop  itself;  and,,  on  the  way 
up,  all  had  very  cautiously  and  prudently  exhorted 
each  other  not  to  let  things  out,  except  according  to 
previous  arrangement. 

What  was  the  good  man's  consternation,  there- 
fore, just  as  he  had  motioned  to  the  ladies  to  be 
seated,  and  was  taking  out  his  pocket-handkerchief 
to  wipe  his  mouth,  so  as  to  proceed  to  his  intro- 
ductory speech  in  good  order,  when  Madame  de 
Thoux  upset  the  whole  plan,  by  throwing  her  arms 
around  George's  neck,  and  letting  all  out  at  once, 
by  saying,  "  O,  George  !  don't  you  know  me  ?  I  'm 
your  sister  Emily." 

Cassy  had  seated  herself  more  composedly  and 
would  have  carried  on  her  part  very  well,  had  not 
little  Eliza  suddenly  appeared  before  her  in 
exact  shape  and  form,  every  outline  and  curl,  just 
as  her  daughter  was  when  she  saw  her  last.  The 
little  thing  peered  up  in  her  face  ;  and  Cassy  caught 
her  up  in  her  arms,  pressed  her  to  her  bosom,  say- 
ing, what  at  the  moment  she  really  believed,  "  Dar- 
ling, I  'm  your  mother  !  " 

In  fact,  it  was  a  troublesome  matter  to  do  up  ex- 
actly in  proper  order  ;  but  the  good  pastor,  at  last, 
succeeded  in  getting  everybody  quiet,  and  delivering 


608  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

the  speech  with  which  he  had  intended  to  open  the 
exercises  ;  and  in  which,  at  last,  he  succeeded  so 
■well,  that  his  whole  audience  were  sobbing  about 
him  in  a  manner  that  ought  to  satisfy  any  orator, 
ancient  or  modern. 

They  knelt  together,  and  the  good  man  prayed, — 
for  there  are  some  feelings  so  agitated  and  tumultu- 
ous, that  they  can  find  rest  only  by  being  poured 
into  the  bosom  of  Almighty  love,— and  then,  rising 
•up,  the  new-found  family  embraced  each  other,  with 
a  holy  trust  in  Him,  who  from  such  peril  and  dan- 
gers, and  by  such  unknown  ways,  had  brought  them 
together. 

The  note-book  of  a  missionary,  among  the  Cana- 
dian fugitives,  contains  truth  stranger  than  fiction. 
How  can  it  be  otherwise,  when  a  system  prevails 
which  whirls  families  and  scatters  their  members, 
as  the  wind  whirls  and  scatters  the  leaves  of  au- 
tumn ?  These  shores  of  refuge,  like  the  eternal 
shore,  often  unite  again,  in  glad  communion,  hearts 
that  for  long  years  have  mourned  each  other  as  lost. 
And  affecting  beyond  expression  is  the  earnestness 
with  which  every  new  arrival  among  them  is  met,  if, 
perchance,  it  may  bring  tidings  of  mother,  sister, 
child  or  wife,  still  lost  to  view  in  the  shadows  of 
slavery. 

Deeds  of  heroism  are  wrought  here  more  than 
those  of  romance,  when,  defying  torture,  and  brav- 
ing death  itself,  the  fugitive  voluntarily  threads  his 
way  back  to  the  terrors  and  perils  of  that  dark  land, 
that  he  may  bring  out  his  sister,  or  mother,  or  wife. 

One  young  man,  of  whom  a  missionary  has  told 
us,  twice  re-captured,  and  suffering  shameful  stripes 
for  his  heroism,  had  escaped  again  ;  and,  in  a  letter 
"which  we  heard  read,  tells  his  friends   that  he  is 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  609 

going  back  a  third  time,  that  he  may,  at  last,  bring 
away  his  sister.  My  good  sir,  is  this  man  a  hero, 
or  a  criminal  ?  Would  not  you  do  as  much  for  your 
sister  ?     And  can  you  blame  him  ? 

But,  to  return  to  our  friends,  whom  we  left  wiping 
their  eyes,  and  recovering  themselves  from  too  great 
and  sudden  a  joy.  They  are  now  seated  around  the 
social  board,  and  are  getting  decidedly  companion- 
able ;  only  that  Cassy,  who  keeps  little  Eliza  on  her 
lap,  occasionally  squeezes  the  little  thing,  in  a  man- 
ner that  rather  astonishes  her,  and  obstinately  re- 
fuses to  have  her  mouth  stuffed  with  cake  to  the  ex- 
tent the  little  one  desires, — alleging,  what  the  child 
rather  wonders  at,  that  she  has  got  something  better 
than  cake,  and  does  n't  want  it. 

And,  indeed,  in  two  or  three  days,  such  a  change 
has  passed  over  Cassy,  that  our  readers  would 
scarcely  know  her.  The  despairing,  haggard  ex- 
pression of  her  face  had  given  way  to  one  of  gentle 
trust.  She  seemed  to  sink,  at  once,  into  the  bosom 
of  the  family,  and  take  the  little  ones  into  her  heart, 
as  something  for  which  it  long  had  waited.  Indeed, 
her  love  seemed  to  flow  more  naturally  to  the  little 
Eliza  than  to  her  own  daughter ;  for  she  was  the 
exact  image  and  body  of  the  child  whom  she  had 
lost.  The  little  one  was  a  flowery  bond  between 
mother  and  daughter,  through  whom  grew  up  ac- 
quaintanceship and  affection.  Eliza's  steady,  con- 
sistent piety,  regulated  by  the  constant  reading  of 
the  sacred  word,  made  her  a  proper  guide  for  the 
shattered  and  wearied  mind  of  her  mother.  Cassy 
yielded  at  once,  and  with  her  whole  soul,  to  every 
good  influence,  and  became  a  devout  and  tender 
Christian. 

After  a  dav  or  two,  Madame  de  Thoux  told   her 


6lO  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  ■    OR, 

brother  more  particularly  of  her  affairs.  The  death 
of  her  husband  had  left  her  an  ample  fortune,  which 
she  generously  offered  to  share  with  the  family. 
When  she  asked  George  what  way  she  could  best 
apply  it  for  him,  he  answered,  "  Give  me  an  educa- 
tion, Emily  ;  that  has  always  been  my  heart's  desire. 
Then,  I  can  do  all  the  rest." 

On  mature  deliberation,  it  was  decided  that  the 
whole  family  should  go,  for  some  years,  to  France  ; 
whither  they  sailed,  carrying  Emmeline  with  them. 

The  good  looks  of  the  latter  won  the  affection  of 
the  first  mate  of  the  vessel ;  and,  shortly  after  enter- 
ing the  port,  she  became  his  wife. 

George  remained  four  years  at  a  French  univer- 
sity, and,  applying  himself  with  an  unintermitted 
zeal,  obtained  a  very  thorough  education. 

Political  troubles  in  France,  at  last,  led  the  family 
again  to  seek  an  asylum  in  this  country. 

George's  feelings  and  views,  as  an  educated  man, 
may  be  best  expressed  in  a  letter  to  one  of  his  friends. 

"  I  feel  somewhat  at  a  loss,  as  to  my  future  course. 
True,  as  you  have  said  to  me,  I  might  mingle  in  the 
circles  of  the  whites,  in  this  country,  my  shade  of 
color  is  so  slight,  and  that  of  my  wife  and  family 
scarce  perceptible.  Well,  perhaps,  on  sufferance,  I 
might.     But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  no  wish  to. 

"  My  sympathies  are  not  for  my  father's  race,  but 
for  my  mother's.  To  him  I  was  no  more  than  a 
fine  dog  or  horse  :  to  my  poor  heart-broken  mother 
I  was  a  child ;  and,  though  I  never  saw  her,  after 
the  cruel  sale  that  separated  us,  till  she  died,  yet  I 
know  she  always  loved  me  dearly.  I  know  it  by  my 
own  heart.  When  I  think  of  all  she  suffered,  of  my 
own  early  sufferings,  of  the  distresses  and  struggles 
of  my  heroic  wife,  of  my  sister,  sold  in  the   New 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  6ll 

Orleans  slave-market, — though  I  hope  to  have  no 
unchristian  sentiments,  yet  I  may  be  excused  for 
saying,  I  have  no  wish  to  pass  for  an  American,  or 
to  identify  myself  with  them. 

"  It  is  with  the  oppressed,  enslaved  African  race 
that  I  cast  in  my  lot ;  and,  if  I  wished  anything,  I 
would  wish  myself  two  shades  darker,  rather  than 
one  lighter. 

"  The  desire  and  yearning  of  my  soul  is  for  an 
African  fiationality.  I  want  a  people  that  shall 
have  a  tangible,  separate  existence  of  its  own  ;  and 
where  am  I  to  look  for  it  ?  Not  in  Hayti ;  for  in 
Hayti  they  had  nothing  to  start  with.  A  stream 
cannot  rise  above  its  fountain.  The  race  that 
formed  the  character  of  the  Haytiens  was  a  worn- 
out,  effeminate  one  ;  and,  of  course,  the  subject  race 
will  be  centuries  in  rising  to  anything. 

"  Where,  then,  shall  I  look  ?  On  the  shores  of 
Africa  I  see  a  republic, — a  republic  formed  of 
picked  men,  who,  by  energy  and  self-educating  force, 
have,  in  many  cases,  individually,  raised  themselves- 
above  a  condition  of  slavery.  Having  gone  through, 
a  preparatory  stage  of  feebleness,  this  republic  has, 
at  last,  become  an  acknowledged  nation  on  the  face 
of  the  earth, — acknowledged  by  both  France  and 
England.  There  it  is  my  wish  to  go,  and  find  my- 
self a  people. 

"  I  am  aware,  now,  that  I  shall  have  you  all. 
against  me  ;  but,  before  you  strike,  hear  me.  Dur- 
ing my  stay  in  France,  I  -  have  followed  up,  with, 
intense  interest,  the  history  of  my  people  in  America. 
I  have  noted  the  struggle  between  abolitionist  and 
colonizationist,  and  have  received  some  impressions,, 
as  a  distant  spectator,  which  could  never  have  oc- 
curred to  me  as  a  participator. 


fol.2  UNCLE    TOMS    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  I  grant  that  this  Liberia  may  have  subserved  all 
■sorts  of  purposes,  by  being  played  off,  in  the  hands 
of  our  oppressors,  against  us.  Doubtless  the  scheme 
may  have  been  used,  in  unjustifiable  ways,  as  a 
aneans  of  retarding  our  emancipation.  But  the 
question  to  me  is,  Is  there  not  a  God  above  all  man's 
schemes  ?  May  He  not  have  overruled  their  designs, 
and  founded  for  us  a  nation  by  them  ? 

"  In  these  days,  a  nation  is  born  in  a  day.  A 
nation  starts,  now,  with  all  the  great  problems  of 
republican  life  and  civilization  wrought  out  to  its 
hand ; — it  has  not  to  discover,  but  only  to  apply. 
Let  us,  then,  all  take  hold  together,  with  all  our 
might,  and  see  what  we  can  do  with  this  new  enter- 
prise, and  the  whole  splendid  continent  of  Africa 
•opens  before  us  and  our  children.  Our  nation  shall 
roll  the  tide  of  civilization  and  Christianity  along 
its  shores,  and  plant  there  mighty  republics,  that, 
growing  with  the  rapidity  of  tropical  vegetation, 
shall  be  for  all  coming  ages. 

"  Do  you  say  that  I  am  deserting  my  enslaved 
"brethren  ?  I  think  not.  If  I  forget  them  one  hour, 
one  moment  of  my  life,  so  may  God  forget  me  !  But, 
"what  can  I  do  for  them,  here?  Can  I  break  their 
ohains  ?  No,  not  as  an  individual ;  but,  let  me  go 
.and  form  part  of  a  nation,  which  shall  have  a  voice 
in  the  councils  of  nations,  and  then  we  can  speak. 
A  nation  has  a  right  to  argue,  remonstrate,  implore, 
and  present  the  cause  of  its  race, — which  an  indi- 
vidual has  not. 

"  If  Europe  ever  becomes  a  grand  council  of  free 
nations, — as  I  trust  in  God  it  will, — if,  there,  serf- 
dom, and  all  unjust  and  oppressive  social  inequalities, 
are  done. away  ;  and  if  they,  as  France  and  England 
Jiave  done,  acknowledge  our  position,— then,  in  the 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  613 

great  congress  of  nations,  we  will  make  our  appeal, 
and  present  the  cause  of  our  enslaved  and  suffering 
race  ;  and  it  cannot  be  that  free,  enlightened  Amer- 
ica will  not  then  desire  to  wipe  from  her  escutcheon 
that  bar  sinister  which  disgraces  her  among  nations, 
and  is  as  truly  a  curse  to  her  as  to  the  enslaved. 

"  But,  you  will  tell  me,  our  race  have  equal  rights 
to  mingle  in  the  American  republic  as  the  Irishman, 
the  German,  the  Swede.  Granted,  they  have.  We 
czight  to  be  free  to  meet  and  mingle, — to  rise  by  our 
individual  worth,  without  any  consideration  of  caste 
•or  color ;  and  they  who  deny  us  this  right  are  false 
to  their  own  professed  principles  of  human  equality. 
We  ought,  in  particular,  to  be  allowed  here.  WTe 
liave  more  than  the  rights  of  common  men; — we 
have  the  claim  of  an  injured  race  for  reparation. 
J3ut,  then,  I  do  not  want  it;  I  want  a  country,  a 
nation,  of  my  own.  I  think  that  the  African  race 
has  peculiarities,  yet  to  be  unfolded  in  the  light  of 
civilization  and  Christianity,  which,  if  not  the  same 
jvith  those  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  may  prove  to  be, 
jiorally,  of  even  a  higher  .type. 

"  To  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  has  been  intrusted  the 
destinies  of  the  world,  during  its  pioneer  period  of 
struggle  and  conflict.  To  that  mission  its  stern,  in- 
flexible, energetic  elements,  were  well  adapted ;  but, 
as  a  Christian,  I  look  for  another  era  to  arise.  On 
its  borders  I  trust  we  stand;  and  the  throes  that 
now  convulse  the  nations  are,  to  my  hope,  but  the 
birth-pangs  of  an  hour  of  universal  peace  and  brother- 
hood. 

"  I  trust  that  the  development  of  Africa  is  to  be 
essentially  a  Christian  one.  If  not  a  dominant  and 
commanding  race,  they  are,  at  least,  an  affectionate, 
magnanimous,   and   forgiving  one.       Having   been 


6 14  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

called  in  the  furnace  of  injustice  and  oppression,, 
they  have  need  to  bind  closer  to  their  hearts  that 
sublime  doctrine  of  love  and  forgiveness,  through, 
which  alone  they  are  to  conquer,  which  it  is  to  be 
their  mission  to  spread  over  the  continent  of  Africa. 

"  In  myself,  I  confess,  I  am  feeble  for  this, — full 
half  the  blood  in  my  veins  is  the  hot  and  hasty 
Saxon  ;  but  I  have  an  eloquent  preacher  of  the  Gos- 
pel ever  by  my  side,  in  the  person  of  my  beautiful 
wife.  When  I  wander,  her  gentler  spirit  ever  re- 
stores me,  and  keeps  before  my  eyes  the  Christian 
calling  and  mission  of  our  race.  As  a  Christian 
patriot,  as  a  teacher  of  Christianity,  I  go  to  my  coun- 
try,— my  chosen,  my  glorious  Africa  !— and  to  her, 
in  my  heart,  I  sometimes  apply  those  splendid  words 
of  prophecy :  *  Whereas  thou  hast  been  forsaken 
and  hated,  so  that  no  man  went  through  thee  ;  /will 
make  thee  an  eternal  excellence,  a  joy  of  many  gen- 
erations ! ' 

"  You  will  call  me  an  enthusiast :  you  will  tell  me 
that  I  have  not  well  considered  what  I  am  under- 
taking. But  I  have  considered,  and  counted  the 
cost.  I  go  to  Liberia,  not  as  to  an  Elysium  of 
romance,  but  as  to  afield  of  work.  I  expect  to  work 
with  both  hands, — to  work  hard  ;  to  work  against 
all  sorts  of  difficulties  and  discouragements  ;  and  to 
work  till  I  die.  This  is  what  I  go  for;  and  in  this 
I  am  quite  sure  I  shall  not  be  disappointed. 

"  Whatever  you  may  think  of  my  determination, 
do  not  divorce  me  from  your  confidence  ;  and  think 
that,  in  whatever  I  do,  I  act  with  a  heart  wholly  given 
to  my  people. 

"  George  Harris." 

George,  with  his  wife,  children,  sister  and  mother, 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  615 

-embarked  for  Africa,  some  few  weeks  after.  If  we 
are  not  mistaken,  the  world  will  yet  hear  from  him 
there. 

Of  our  other  characters  we  have  nothing  very  par- 
ticular to  write,  except  a  word  relating  to  Miss 
Ophelia  and  Topsy,  and  a  farewell  chapter,  which 
we  shall  dedicate  to  George  Shelby. 

Miss  Ophelia  took  Topsy  home  to  Vermont  with 
her,  much  to  the  surprise  of  that  grave  deliberative 
body  whom  a  New  England er  recognizes  under  the 
term  "  Our  folks."  "  Our  folks,"  at  first,  thought  it 
an  odd  and  unnecessary  addition  to  their  well-trained 
domestic  establishment ;  but,  so  thoroughly  efficient 
was  Miss  Ophelia  in  her  conscientious  endeavor  to 
do  her  duty  by  her  eleve,  that  the  child  rapidly  grew 
in  grace  and  in  favor  with  the  family  and  neighbor- 
hood. At  the  age  of  womanhood,  she  was,  By  her 
own  request,  baptized,  and  became  a  member  of  the 
Christian  church  in  the  place  ;  and  showed  so  much 
intelligence,  activity  and  zeal,  and  desire  to  do  good 
in  the  world,  that  she  was  at  last  recommended,  and 
approved,  as  a  missionary  to  one  of  the  stations  in 
Africa ;  and  we  have  heard  that  the  same  activity 
and  ingenuity  which,  when  a  child,  made  her  so  mul- 
tiform and  restless  in  her  developments,  is  now 
employed,  in  a  safer  and  wholesomer  manner,  in 
teaching  the  children  of  her  own  country. 

P.  S. — It  will  be  a  satisfaction  to  some  mother, 
also,  to  state,  that  some  inquiries,  which  were  set  on 
foot  by  Madame  de  Thoux,  have  resulted  recently 
in  the  discovery  of  Cassy's  son.  Being  a  young 
man  of  energy,  he  had  escaped,  some  years  before 
his  mother,  and  been  received  and  educated  by 
friends  of  the  oppressed  in  the  north.  He  will  soon 
follow  his  family  to  Africa. 


6l6  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  ORr 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  LIBERATOR. 

George  Shelby  had  written  to  his  mother  merely 
a  line,  stating  the  day  that  she  might  expect  him 
home.  Of  the  death  scene  of  his  old  friend  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  write.  He  had  tried  several  times, 
and  only  succeeded  in  half  choking  himself  ;  and 
invariably  finished  by  tearing  up  the  paper,  wiping 
his  eyes,  and  rushing  somewhere  to  get  quiet. 

There  was  a  pleased  bustle  all  through  the  Shelby 
mansion,  that  day,  in  expectation  of  the  arrival  of 
young  Mas'r  George. 

Mrs.  Shelby  was  seated  in  her  comfortable  par- 
lor, where  a  cheerful  hickory  fire  was  dispelling  the 
chill  of  the  late  autumn  evening.  A  supper-table,, 
glittering  with  plate,  and  cut  glass,  was  set  out,  on 
whose  arrangements  our  former  friend,  old  Chloe,, 
was  presiding. 

Arrayed  in  a  new  calico  dress,  with  clean,  white 
apron,  and  high,  well-starched  turban,  her  black 
polished  face  glowing  with  satisfaction,  she  lingered- 
with  needless  punctiliousness,  around  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  table,  merely  as  an  excuse  for  talking  a. 
little  to  her  mistress. 

"Laws,  now  !  won't  it  look  natural  to  him  ?  "  she 
said.  "  Thar,— I  set  his  plate  just  whar  he  likes  it,, 
— round  by  the  fire.  Mas'r  George  allers  wants  de 
warm  seat.  O,  go  way  ! — why  did  n't  Sally  get  out 
de  best  tea-pot, — de  little  new  one,  Mas'r  George 
got  for  Missis,  Christmas  ?  I  '11  have  it  out !  And 
Missis  has  heard  from  Mas'r  George?"  she  said,, 
inquiringly. 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  6lJ 

"  Yes,  Chloe  ;  but  only  a  line,  just  to  say  he  would 
be  home  to-night,  if  he  could, — that's  all." 

"  Did  n't  say  nothin'  'bout  my  old  man,  s'pose  ? '" 
said  Chloe,  still  fidgeting  with  the  tea-cups. 

"  No,  he  did  n't.  He  did  not  speak  of  anything, 
Chloe.  He  said  he  would  tell  all,  when  he  got 
home." 

"  Jes  like  Mas'r  George, — he 's  allers  so  ferce  for 
tellin'  everything  hisself.  I  allers  minded  dat  ar  in 
Mas'r  George.  Don't  see,  for  my  part,  how  white 
people  gen'lly  can  bar  to  hev  to  write  things  much 
as  they  do,  writin'  's  such  slow,  oneasy  kind  o'  work." 

Mrs.  Shelby  smiled. 

"  I  'm  a  thinkin'  my  old  man  won't  know  de  boys 
and  de  baby.  Lor' !  she  's  de  biggest  gal,  now, — 
good  she  is,  too,  and  peart,  Polly  is.  She  's  out  to 
the  house,  now,  watchin'  de  hoe-cake.  I  's  got  jist 
de  very  pattern  my  old  man  liked  so  much,  a  bakin'. 
Jist  sich  as  I  gin  him  the  mornin'  he  was  took  off. 
Lord  bless  us  !  how  I  felt,  dat  ar  morning  !  " 

Mrs.  Shelby  sighed,  and  felt  a  heavy  weight  on 
her  heart,  at  this  allusion.  She  had  felt  uneasy, 
ever  since  she  received  her  son's  letter,  lest  some- 
thing should  prove  to  be  hidden  behind  the  veil  of 
silence  which  he  had  drawn. 

"  Missis  has  got  dem  bills  ? "  said  Chloe,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Yes,  Chloe." 

"  Cause  I  wants  to  show  my  old  man  dem  very- 
bills  de  perfectioiier  gave  me.  '  And,'  says  he, 
'Chloe,  I  wish  you  'd  stay  longer/  'Thank  you, 
Mas'r,'  says  I,  *  I  would,  only  my  old  man  's  coming 
home,  and  Missis, — she  can't  do  without  me  no 
longer.'  There  's  jist  what  I  telled  him.  Berry- 
nice  man,  dat  Mas'r  Jones  was." 


6i8  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

Chloe  had  pertinaciously  insisted  that  the  very- 
bills  in  which  her  wages  had  been  paid  should  be 
preserved,  to  show  to  her  husband,  in  memorial  of 
her  capability.  And  Mrs.  Shelby  had  readily  con- 
sented to  humor  her  in  the  request. 

"He  won't  know  Polly, — my  old  man  won't. 
Laws,  it 's  five  year  since  they  tuck  him  !  She  was 
a  baby  den, — could  n't  but  jist  stand.  Remember 
how  tickled  he  used  to  be,  cause  she  would  keep  a 
fallin'  over,  when  she  sot  out  to  walk.    Laws  a  me  !  " 

The  rattling  of  wheels  now  was  heard. 

"  Mas'r  George  ! "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  starting  to 
the  window. 

Mrs.  Shelby  ran  to  the  entry  door,  and  was  folded 
In  the  arms  of  her  son.  Aunt  Chloe  stood  anx- 
iously straining  her  eyes  out  into  the  darkness. 

"  O,  poor  Aunt  Chloe !  "  said  George,  stopping 
compassionately,  and  taking  her  hard,  black  hand 
between  both  his  ;  "  I  'd  have  given  all  my  fortune 
to  have  brought  him  with  me,  but  he's  gone  to  a 
better  country." 

There  was  a  passionate  exclamation  from  Mrs. 
Shelby,  but  Aunt  Chloe  said  nothing. 

The  party  entered  the  supper-room.  The  money, 
of  which  Chloe  was  so  proud,  was  still  lying  on  the 
table. 

"  Thar,"  said  she,  gathering  it  up,  and  holding  it, 
with  a  trembling  hand,  to  her  mistress,  ''  don't 
never  want  to  see  nor  hear  on  't  again.  Jist  as  I 
knew  't  would  be, — sold,  and  murdered  on  dem  ar' 
old  plantations  ! " 

Chloe  turned,  and  was  walking  proudly  out  of  the 
room.  Mrs.  Shelby  followed  her  softly,  and  took 
one  of  her  hands,  drew  her  down  into  a  chair,  and 
sat  down  by  her. 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  619 

"  My  poor,  good  Chloe  ! "  said  she. 

Chloe  leaned  her  head  on  her  mistress'  shoulder, 
and  sobbed  out,  "  O  Missis  !  'scuse  me,  my  heart 's 
broke,— dat  's  all !  " 

"  I  know  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  as  her  tears 
fell  fast ;  "  and  /cannot  heal  it,  but  Jesus  can.  He 
healeth  the  broken  hearted,  and  bindeth  up  their 
wounds." 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  time,  and  all  wept 
together.  At  last,  George,  sitting  down  beside  the 
mourner,  took  her  hand,  and,  with  simple  pathos, 
repeated  the  triumphant  scene  of  her  husband's 
death,  and  his  last  messages  of  love. 

About  a  month  after  this,  one  morning,  all  the 
servants  of  the  Shelby  estate  were  convened  to- 
gether in  the  great  hall  that  ran  through  the  house, 
to  hear  a  few  words  from  their  young  master. 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  he  appeared  among  them 
with  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand,  containing  a 
certificate  of  freedom  to  every  one  on  the  place, 
which  he  read  successively,  and  presented,  amid  the 
sobs  and  tears  and  shouts  of  all  present. 

Many,  however,  pressed  around  him,  earnestly 
begging  him  not  to  send  them  away ;  and,  with 
anxious  faces,  tendering  back  their  free  papers. 

"  We  don't  want  to  be  no  freer  than  we  are. 
We  's  allers  had  all  we  wanted.  We  don't  want  to 
leave  de  ole  place,  and  Mas'r  and  Missis,  and  de 
rest ! " 

"  My  good  friends,"  said  George,  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  a  silence,  "  there  '11  be  no  need  for  you  to 
leave  me.  The  place  wants  as  many  hands  to  work 
it  as  it  did  before.  We  need  the  same  about  the 
house  that  we  did  before.  But  you  are  now  free 
men  and  free  women.  I  shall  pay  you  wages  for 
41 


62 O  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

your  work,  such  as  we  shall  agree  on.  The  advan- 
tage is,  that  in  case  of  my  getting  in  debt,  or  dying, 
— things  that  might  happen, — you  cannot  now  be 
taken  up  and  sold.  I  expect  to  carry  on  the  estate, 
and  to  teach  you  what,  perhaps,  it  will  take  you 
some  time  to  learn, — how  to  use  the  rights  I  give 
you  as  free  men  and  women.  I  expect  you  to  be 
good,  and  willing  to  learn  ;  and  I  trust  in  God  that 
I  shall  be  faithful,  and  willing  to  teach.  And  now,  * 
my  friends,  look  up,  and  thank  God  for  the  blessing 
of  freedom." 

An  aged,  patriarchal  negro,  who  had  grown  gray 
and  blind  on  the  estate,  now  rose,  and,  lifting  his 
trembling  hand,  said,  "  Let  us  give  thanks  unto  the 
Lord!"  As  all  kneeled  by  one  consent,  a  more 
touching  and  hearty  Te  Deum  never  ascended  to 
heaven,  though  borne  on  the  peal  of  organ,  bell  and 
cannon,  than  came  from  that  honest  old  heart. 

On  rising,  another  struck  up  a  Methodist  hymn, 
of  which  the  burden  was, 

"  The  year  of  Jubilee  is  come, — 
Return,  ye  ransomed  sinners,  home." 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  George,  as  he  stopped 
the  congratulations  of  the  throng ;  "you  all  remem- 
ber our  good  old  Uncle  Tom  ?  < 

George  here  gave  a  short  narration  of  the  scene 
of  his  death,  and  of  his  loving  farewell  to  all  on  the 
place,  and  added, 

"  It  was  on  his  grave,  my  friends,  that  I  resolved, 
before  God,  that  I  would  never  own  another  slave, 
while  it  was  possible  to  free  him ;  that  nobody, 
through  me,  should  ever  run  the  risk  of  being  parted 
from  home  and  friends,  and  dying  on  a  lonely  planta- 
tion, as  he  died.  So,  when  you  rejoice  in  your 
freedom,  think  that  you  owe  it  to  that  good  old  soul, 


LIFE   AMONG  THE   LOWLY.  62 1 

and  pay  it  back  in  kindness  to  his  wife  and  children. 
Think  of  your  freedom,  every  time  you  see  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  ;  and  let  it  be  a  memorial  to  put  you 
all  in  mind  to  follow  in  his  steps,  and  be  as  honest 
and  faithful  and  Christian  as  he  was." 


concluding  remarks. 

The  writer  has  often  been  inquired  of  by  corre- 
spondents from  different  parts  of  the  country,  whether 
this  narrative  is  a  true  one ;  and  to  these  inquiries 
she  will  give  one  general  answer. 

The  separate  incidents  that  compose  the  narrative 
are,  to  a  very  great  extent,  authentic,  occurring, 
many  of  them,  either  under  her  own  observation,  or 
that  of  her  personal  friends.  She  or  her  friends 
have  observed  characters  the  counterpart  of  almost 
all  that  are  here  introduced  ;  and  many  of  the  say- 
ings are  word  for  word  as  heard  herself,  or  reported 
to  her. 

The  personal  appearance  of  Eliza,  the  character 
ascribed  to  her,  are  sketches  drawn  from  life.  The 
incorruptible  fidelity,  piety  and  honesty,  of  Uncle 
Tom,  had  more  than  one  development,  to  her  per- 
sonal knowledge.  Some  of  the  most  deeply  tragic 
and  romantic,  some  of  the  most  terrible  incidents, 
have  also  their  parallel  in  reality.  The  incident  of 
the  mother's  crossing  the  Ohio  river  on  the  ice  is 
a  well-known  fact.  The  story  of  "old  Prue,"  in  the 
second  volume,  was  an  incident  that  fell  under  the 
personal  observation  of  a  brother  of  the  writer,  then 
collecting-clerk  to  a  large  mercantile  house,  in  New 
Orleans.     From  the  same  source  was  derived  the 


62  2  UNCLE    TOM'S    CARTN  :    OR, 

character  of  the  planter  Legree.  Of  him  her  brother 
thus  wrote,  speaking  of  visiting  his  plantation,  on 
a  collecting  tour :  "  He  actually  made  me  feel  of 
his  fist,  which  was  like  a  blacksmith's  hammer,  or  a 
nodule  of  iron,  telling  me  that  it  was  '  calloused  with 
knocking  down  niggers.'  When  I  left  the  plantation, 
I  drew  a  long  breath,  and  felt  as  if  I  had  escaped 
from  an  ogre's  den." 

That  the  tragical  fate  of  Tom,  also,  has  too  many 
times  had  its  parallel,  there  are  living  witnesses,  all 
over  our  land,  to  testify.  Let  it  be  remembered 
that  in  all  southern  states  it  is  a  principle  of  juris- 
prudence that  no  person  of  colored  lineage  can 
testify  in  a  suit  against  a  white,  and  it  will  be  easy 
to  see  that  such  a  case  may  occur,  wherever  there 
is  a  man  whose  passions  outweigh  his  interests,  and 
a  slave  who  has  manhood  or  principle  enough  to 
resist  his  will.  There  is,  actually,  nothing  to  pro- 
tect the  slave's  life,  but  the  character  of  the  master. 
Facts  too  shocking  to  be  contemplated  occasionally 
force  their  way  to  the  public  ear,  and  the  comment 
that  one  often  hears  made  on  them  is  more  shock- 
ing than  the  thing  itself.  It  is  said,  "  Very  likely 
such  cases  may  now  and  then  occur,  but  they  are 
no  sample  of  general  practice."  If  the  laws  of  New 
England  were  so  arranged  that  a  master  could  now 
and  then  torture  an  apprentice  to  death,  without  a 
possibility  of  being  brought  to  justice,  would  it  be 
received  with  equal  composure  ?  Would  it  be  said, 
"  These  cases  are  rare,  and  no  samples  of  general 
practice  "  ?  This  injustice  is  an  inherent  one  in  the 
slave  system, — it  cannot  exist  without  it. 

The  public  and  shameless  sale  of  beautiful  mu- 
latto and  quadroon  girls  has  acquired  a  notoriety, 
from    the    incidents   following   the    capture    of  the 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  623 

Pearl.  We  extract  the  following  from  the  speech 
of  Hon.  Horace  Mann,  one  of  the  legal  counsel 
for  the  defendants  in  that  case.  He  says  :  "  In  that 
company  of  seventy-six  persons,  who  attempted,  in 
1848,  to  escape  from  the  District  of  Columbia  in 
the  schooner  Pearl,  and  whose  officers  I  assisted  in 
defending,  there  were  several  young  and  healthy 
girls,  who  had  those  peculiar  attractions  of  form  and 
feature  which  connoisseurs  prize  so  highly.  Eliza- 
beth Russel  was  one  of  them.  She  immediately 
fell  into  the  slave-trader's  fangs,  and  was  doomed 
for  the  New  Orleans  market.  The  hearts  of  those 
that  saw  her  were  touched  with  pity  for  her  fate. 
They  offered  eighteen  hundred  dollars  to  redeem 
her ;  and  some  there  were  who  offered  to  give,  that 
would  not  have  much  left  after  the  gift ;  but  the 
fiend  of  a  slave-trader  was  inexorable.  She  was  de- 
spatched to  New  Orleans  ;  but,  when  about  half  way 
there,  God  had  mercy  on  her,  and  smote  her  with 
death.  There  were  two  girls  named  Edmundson 
in  the  same  company.  When  about  to  be  sent  to 
the  same  market,  an  older  sister  went  to  the  sham- 
bles, to  plead  with  the  wretch  who  owned  them,  for 
the  love  of  God,  to  spare  his  victims.  He  bantered 
her,  telling  what  fine  dresses  and  fine  furniture  they 
would  have.  *  Yes,'  she  said,  '  that  may  do  very 
well  in  this  life,  but  what  will  become  of  them  in 
the  next  ? '  They  too  were  sent  to  New  Orleans  ; 
but  were  afterwards  redeemed,  at  an  enormous  ran- 
som, and  brought  back."  Is  it  not  plain,  from  this, 
that  the  histories  of  Emmeline  and  Gassy  may  have 
many  counterparts  ? 

Justice,  too,  obliges  the  author  to  state  that  the 
fairness  of  mind  and  generosity  attributed  to  St. 
Clare    are  not   without  a  parallel,  as  the  following 


624  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

anecdote  will  show.  A  few  years  since,  a  young 
southern  gentleman  was  in  Cincinnati,  with  a  favo- 
rite servant,  who  had  been  his  personal  attendant 
from  a  boy.  The  young  man  took  advantage  of 
this  opportunity  to  secure  his  own  freedom,  and  fled 
to  the  protection  of  a  Quaker,  who  was  quite  noted 
in  affairs  of  this  kind.  The  owner  was  exceedingly 
indignant.  He  had  always  treated  the  slave  with 
such  indulgence,  and  his  confidence  in  his  affection 
was  such,  that  he  believed  he  must  have  been  prac- 
tised upon  to  induce  him  to  revolt  from  him.  He 
visited  the  Quaker,  in  high  anger ;  but,  being  pos- 
sessed of  uncommon  candor  and  fairness,  was  soon 
quieted  by  his  arguments  and  representations.  It 
was  a  side  of  the  subject  which  he  never  had  heard, 
— never  had  thought  on  ;  and  he  immediately  told 
the  Quaker  that,  if  his  slave  would,  to  his  own  face, 
say  that  it  was  his  desire  to  be  free,  he  would  liber- 
ate him.  An  interview  was  forthwith  procured,  and 
Nathan  was  asked  by  his  young  master  whether  he 
had  ever  had  any  reason  to  complain  of  his  treat- 
ment, in  any  respect. 

"  No,  Mas'r,"  said  Nathan  ;  "  you  've  always  been 
good  to  me." 

"  Well,  then,  why  do  you  want  to  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Mas'r  may  die,  and  then  who  get  me  ? — I  'd 
rather  be  a  free  man.'' 

After  some  deliberation,  the  young  master  replied, 
*•  Nathan,  in  your  place,  I  think  I  should  feel  very 
much  so,  myself.     You  are  free." 

He  immediately  made  him  out  free  papers  ;  de- 
posited a  sum  of  money  in  the  hands  of  the  Quaker, 
to  be  judiciously  used  in  assisting  him  to  start  in  life, 
and  left  a  very  sensible  and  kind  letter  of  advice  to 
the  young  man.  That  letter  was  for  some  time  in 
the  writer's  hands. 


LIFE    AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  625 

The  author  hopes  she  has  done  justice  to  that 
nobility,  generosity,  and  humanity,  which  in  many 
cases  characterize  individuals  at  the  South.  Such 
instances  save  us  from  utter  despair  of  our  kind. 
But,  she  asks  any  person,  who  knows  the  world,  are 
such  characters  common,  anywhere  ? 

For  many  years  of  her  life,  the  author  avoided  all 
reading  upon  or  allusion  to  the  subject  of  slavery, 
considering  it  as  too  painful  to  be  inquired  into,  and 
one  which  advancing  light  and  civilization  would 
certainly  live  down.  But,  since  the  legislative  act 
of  1850,  when  she  heard,  with  perfect  surprise  and 
consternation,  Christian  and  humane  people  actually 
recommending  the  remanding  escaped  fugitives  into 
slavery,  as  a  duty  binding  on  good  citizens, — when 
she  heard,  on  all  hands,  from  kind,  compassionate 
and  estimable  people,  in  the  free  states  of  the  North 
deliberations  and  discussions  as  to  what  Christian 
duty  could  be  on  this  head, — she  could  only  think, 
These  men  and  Christians  cannot  know  what  slavery 
is  ;  if  they  did,  such  a  question  could  never  be  open 
for  discussion.  And  from  this  arose  a  desire  to  ex- 
hibit it  in  a  living  dra?natic  reality.  She  has  endeav- 
ored to  show  it  fairly,  in  its  best  and  its  worst 
phases.  In  its  best  aspect,  she  has,  perhaps,  been 
successful ;  but,  oh  !  who  shall  say  what  yet  remains 
untold  in  that  valley  and  shadow  of  death,  that  lies 
the  other  side  ? 

To  you,  generous,  noble-minded  men  and  women, 
of  the  South, — you,  whose  virtue,  and  magnanimity, 
and  purity  of  character  are  the  greater  for  the 
severer  trial  it  has  encountered, — to  you  is  her  ap- 
peal. Have  you  not,  in  your  own  secret  souls,  in 
your  own  private  conversings,  felt  that  there  are 
woes  and  evils,  in  this  accursed  system,  far  beyond 


626  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

what  are  here  shadowed,  or  can  be  shadowed  ?  Can 
it  be  otherwise ■?  Is  man  ever  a  creature  to  be  trusted 
with  wholly  irresponsible  power  ?  And  does  not  the 
slave  system,  by  denying  the  slave  all  legal  right  of 
testimony,  make  every  individual  owner  an  irrespon- 
sible despot  ?  Can  anybody  fail  to  make  the  infer- 
ence what  the  practical  result  will  be  ?  If  there  is, 
as  we  admit,  a  public  sentiment  among  you,  men  of 
honor,  justice  and  humanity,  is  there  not  also  another 
kind  of  public  sentiment  among  the  ruffian,  the 
brutal  and  debased  ?  And  cannot  the  ruffian,  the 
brutal,  the  debased,  by  slave  law,  own  just  as  many- 
slaves  as  the  best  and  purest  ?  Are  the  honorable, 
the  just,  the  high-minded  and  compassionate,  the 
majority  anywhere  in  this  world  ? 

The  slave-trade  is  now,  by  American  law,  consid- 
ered as  piracy.  But  a  slave-trade,  as  systematic 
as  ever  was  carried  on  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  is  an 
inevitable  attendant  and  result  of  American  slavery. 
And  its  heart-break  and  its  horrors,  can  they  be  told  ? 

The  writer  has  given  only  a  faint  shadow,  a  dim 
picture,  of  the  anguish  and  despair  that  are,  at  this 
very  moment,  riving  thousands  of  hearts,  shattering 
thousands  of  families,  and  driving  a  helpless  and 
sensitive  race  to  frenzy  and  despair.  There  are  those 
living  who  know  the  mothers  whom  this  accursed 
traffic  has  driven  to  the  murder  of  their  children  ; 
and  themselves  seeking  in  death  a  shelter  from  woes 
more  dreaded  than  death.  Nothing  of  tragedy  can 
be  written,  can  be  spoken,  can  be  conceived,  that 
equals  the  frightful  reality  of  scenes  daily  and 
hourly  acting  on  our  shores,  beneath  the  shadow  of 
American  law,  and  the  shadow  of  the  cross  of  Christ. 

And  now,  men  and  women  of  America,  is  this  a 
thing  to  be  trifled  with,  apologized  for,   and  passed 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  627 

over  in  silence  ?  Farmers  of  Massachusetts,  of  New 
Hampshire,  of  Vermont,  of  Connecticut,  who  read 
this  book  by  the  blaze  of  your  winter-evening  fire, — 
strong-hearted,  generous  sailors  and  ship-owners  of 
Maine, — is  this  a  thing  for  you  to  countenance  and 
encourage  ?  Brave  and  generous  men  of  New  York, 
farmers  of  rich  and  joyous  Ohio,  and  ye  of  the  wide 
prairie  states, — answer,  is  this  a  thing  for  you  to 
protect  and  countenance  ?  And  you,  mothers  of 
America, — you,  who  have  learned,  by  the  cradles  of 
your  own  children,  to  love  and  feel  for  all  mankind, 
— by  the  sacred  love  you  bear  your  child  ;  by  your 
joy  in  his  beautiful,  spotless  infancy ;  by  the 
motherly  pity  and  tenderness  with  which  you  guide 
his  growing  years  ;  by  the  anxieties  of  his  education  ; 
by  the  prayers  you  breathe  for  his  soul's  eternal 
good  ; — I  beseech  you,  pity  the  mother  who  has  all 
your  affections,  and  not  one  legal  right  to  protect, 
guide,  or  educate,  the  child  of  her  bosom  !  By  the 
sick  hour  of  your  child  ;  by  those  dying  eyes,  which 
you  can  never  forget ;  by  those  last  cries,  that  wrung 
your  heart  when  you  could  neither  help  nor  save  ;  by 
the  desolation  of  that  empty  cradle,  that  silent 
nursery, — I  beseech  you,  pity  those  mothers  that  are 
constantly  made  childless  by  the  American  slave- 
trade  !  And  say,  mothers  of  America,  is  this  a 
thing  to  be  defended,  sympathized  with,  passed  over 
in  silence  ? 

Do  you  say  that  the  people  of  the  free  states  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  can  do  nothing  ?  Would 
to  God  this  were  true  !  But  it  is  not  true.  The 
people  of  the  free  states  have  defended,  encouraged, 
and  participated  ;  and  are  more  guilty  for  it,  before 
God,  than  the  South,  in  that  they  have  not  the 
apology  of  education  or  custom. 


628  x        UNCLE    TOM*S    CABIN  :    OR, 

If  the  mothers  of  the  free  states  had  all  felt  as 
they  should,  in  times  past,  the  sons  of  the  free  states 
would  not  have  been  the  holders,  and,  proverbially, 
the  hardest  masters  of  slaves  ;  the  sons  of  the  free 
states  would  not  have  connived  at  the  extension  of 
slavery,  in  our  national  body ;  the  sons  of  the  free 
states  would  not,  as  they  do,  trade  the  souls  and 
bodies  of  men  as  an  equivalent  to  money,  in  their 
mercantile  dealings.  There  are  multitudes  of  slaves 
temporarily  owned,  and  sold  again,  by  merchants 
in  northern  cities  ;  and  shall  the  whole  guilt  or  oblo- 
quy of  slavery  fall  only  on  the  South  ? 

Northern  men,  northern  mothers,  northern  Chris- 
tians, have  something  more  to  do  than  denounce 
their  brethren  at  the  South ;  they  have  to  look  to 
the  evil  among  themselves^ 

But,  what  can  any  individual  do  ?  Of  that,  every 
individual  can  judge.  There  is  one  thing  that  every 
individual  can  do, — they  can  see  to  it  that  they  feel 
right.  An  atmosphere  of  sympathetic  influence 
•encircles  every  human  being  ;  and  the  man  or  wo- 
man who  feels  strongly,  healthily  and  justly,  on  the 
great  interests  of  humanity,  is  a  constant  benefactor 
to  the  human  race.  See,  then,  to  your  sympathies 
in  this  matter !  Are  they  in  harmony  with  the 
sympathies  of  Christ  ?  or  are  they  swayed  and  per- 
verted by  the  sophistries  of  worldly  policy  ? 

Christian  men  and  women  of  the  North !  still 
further, — you  have  another  power;  you  czxipray ! 
Do  you  believe  in  prayer  ?  or  has  it  become  an 
indistinct  apostolic  tradition  ?  You  pray  for  the 
heathen  abroad  ;  pray  also  for  the  heathen  at  home. 
And  pray  for  those  distressed  Christians  whose 
whole  chance  of  religious  improvement  is  an  acci- 
dent of  tirade  and  sale  ;  from  whom  any  adherence 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  629 

to  the  morals  of  Christianity  is,  in  many  cases,  an 
impossibility,  unless  they  have  given  them,  from 
above,  the  courage  and  grace  of  martyrdom. 

But,  still  more.  On  the  shores  of  our  free  states 
are  emerging  the  poor,  shattered,  broken  remnants 
of  families, — men  and  woman,  escaped,  by  miracu- 
lous providences,  from  the  surges  of  slavery, — feeble 
in  knowledge,  and,  in  many  cases,  infirm,  in  moral 
constitution,  from  a  system  which  confounds  and 
confuses  every  principle  of  Christianity  and  moral- 
ity. They  come  to  seek  a  refuge  among  you;  they 
come  to  seek  education,  knowledge,  Christianity. 

What  do  you  owe  to  these  poor  unfortunates,  oh 
Christians?  Does  not  every  American  Christian 
owe  to  the  African  race  some  effort  at  reparation  for 
the  wrongs  that  the  American  nation  has  brought 
upon  them  ?  Shall  the  doors  of  churches  and  school- 
ihouses  be  shut  upon  them  ?  Shall  states  arise  and 
shake  them  out  ?  Shall  the  church  of  Christ  hear 
in  silence  the  taunt  that  is  thrown  at  them,  and 
shrink  :away  from  the  helpless  hand  that  they 
stretch  out;  and,  by  her  silence,  encourage  the 
cruelty  that  would  chase  them  from  our  borders? 
If  it  must  be  so,  it  will  be  a  mournful  spectacle.  If 
it  must  be  so,  the  country  will  have  reason  to  tremble, 
when  it  remembers  that  the  fate  of  nations  is  in. 
the  hands  of  One  who  is  very  pitiful,  and  of  tender 
compassion. 

Do  you  say,  "  We  don't  want  them  here ;  let  them 
go  to  Africa  "  ? 

That  the  providence  of  God  has  provided  a  refuge 
in  Africa,  is,  indeed,  a  great  and  noticeable  fact ;  but 
that  is  no  reason  why  the  church  of  Christ  should 
throw  off  that  responsibility  to  this  outcast  race 
which  iier  profession  demands  of  her. 


630  uncle  tom's  cabin  :  or, 

To  fill  up  Liberia  with  an  ignorant,  inexperienced;, 
half-barbarized  race,  just  escaped  from  the  chains 
of  slavery,  would  be  only  to  prolong,  for  ages,  the 
period  of  struggle  and  conflict  which  attends  the 
inception  of  new  enterprises.  Let  the  church  of  the 
north  receive  these  poor  sufferers  in  the  spirit  of 
Christ ;  receive  them  to  the  educating  advantages 
of  Christian  republican  society  and  schools,  until 
they  have  attained  to  somewhat  of  a  moral  and  in- 
tellectual maturity,  and  then  assist  them  in  their 
passage  to  those  shores,  where  they  may  put  in 
practice  the  lessons  they  have  learned  in  America. 

There  is  a  body  of  men  at  the  north,  comparative- 
ly small,  who  have  been  doing  this ;  and,  as  the 
result,  this  country  has  already  seen  examples  of 
men,  formerly  slaves,  who  have  rapidly  acquired 
property,  reputation,  and  education.  Talent  has 
been  developed,  which,  considering  the  circum- 
stances, is  certainly  remarkable  ;  and,  for  moral  traits 
of  honesty,  kindness,  tenderness  of  feeling, — for 
heroic  efforts  and  self-denials,  endured  for  the 
ransom  of  brethren  and  friends  yet  in  slavery, — they 
have  been  remarkable  to  a  degree  that,  considering 
the  influence  under  which  they  were  born,  is  sur- 
prising. 

The  writer  has  lived,  for  many  years,  on  the  fron- 
tier-line of  slave  states,  and  has  had  great  oppor- 
tunities of  observation  among  those  who  formerly 
were  slaves.  They  have  been  in  her  family  as  serv- 
ants ;  and,  in  default  of  any  other  school  to  receive 
them,  she  has,  in  many  cases,  had  them  instructed 
in  a  family  school,  with  her  own  children.  She  has 
also  the  testimony  of  missionaries,  among  the  fugi- 
tives in  Canada,  in  coincidence  with  her  own  expe- 
rience ;  and  her  deductions,  with  regard  to  the  capa- 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  63 1 

bilities  of  the  race,  are  encouraging  in  the  highest 
degree. 

The  first  desire  of  the  emancipated  slave,  gener- 
ally, is  for  education.  There  is  nothing  that  they 
are  not  willing  to  give  or  do  to  have  their  children 
instructed  ;  and,  so  far  as  the  writer  has  observed 
lierself,  or  taken  the  testimony  of  teachers  among 
them,  they  are  remarkably  intelligent  and  quick  to 
learn.  The  results  of  schools,  founded  for  them  by 
benevolent  individuals  in  Cincinnati,  fully  establish 
this. 

The  author  gives  the  following  statement  of  facts, 
on  the  authority  of  Professor  C.  E.  Stowe,  then  of 
Lane  Seminary,  Ohio,  with  regard  to  emancipated 
slaves,  now  resident  in  Cincinnati  ;  given  to  show 
the  capability  of  the  race,  even  without  any  very 
particular  assistance  or  encouragement. 

The  initial  letters  alone  are  given.  They  are  all 
residents  of  Cincinnati. 

"  B .     Furniture  maker  ;  twenty  years   in  the 

city ;  worth  ten  thousand  dollars,  all  his  own  earn- 
ings ;  a  Baptist. 

"  C .     Full  black  ;  stolen  from  Africa ;  sold 

in  New  Orleans ;  been  free  fifteen  years  ;  paid  for 
himself  six  hundred  dollars  ;  a  farmer  ;  owns  several 
farms  in  Indiana ;  Presbyterian ;  probably  worth 
fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars,  all  earned  by 
himself. 

"  K .     Full   black  ;    dealer   in    real    estate ; 

worth  thirty  thousand  dollars  ;  about  forty  years 
old ;  free  six  years  ;  paid  eighteen  hundred  dollars 
for  his  family ;  member  of  the  Baptist  church  ;  re- 
ceived a  legacy  from  his  master,  which  he  has  taken 
good  care  of,  and  increased. 

"G .     Full  black;  coal  dealer;  about  thirty 


632  UNCLE  tom's  cabin  :  OR, 

years  old  ;  worth  eighteen  thousand  dollars ;  paid: 
for  himself  twice,  being  once  defrauded  to  the; 
amount  of  sixteen  hundred  dollars  ;  made  all  his 
money  by  his  own  efforts — much  of  it  while  a  slave, 
hiring  his  time  of  his  master,  and  doing  business  for 
himself ;  a  fine,  gentlemanly  fellow. 

"  W .     Three-fourths     black ;     barber     and 

waiter  ;  from  Kentucky  ;  nineteen  years  free ;  paid 
for  self  and  family  over  three  thousand  dollars; 
worth  twenty  thousand  dollars,  all  his  own  earnings  ; 
deacon  in  the  Baptist  church. 

"  G.  D .     Three-fourths  black  ;  white-washer ; 

from  Kentucky ;  nine  years  free  ;  paid  fifteen  hun- 
dred dollars  for  self  and  family ;  recently  died,, 
aged  sixty ;  worth  six  thousand  dollars." 

Professor  Stowe  says,  "  With  all  these,  except 
G ,  I  have  been,  for  some  years,  personally  ac- 
quainted, and  make  my  statements  from  my  own 
knowledge." 

The  writer  well  remembers  an  aged  colored- 
woman,  who  was  employed  as  a  washerwoman  in 
her  father's  family.  The  daughter  of  this  woman 
married  a  slave.  She  was  a  remarkably  active  and 
capable  young  woman,  and,  by  her  industry  and 
thrift,  and  the  most  persevering  self-denial,  raised 
nine  hundred  dollars  for  her  husband's  freedom, 
which  she  paid,  as  she  raised  it,  into  the  hands  of 
his  master.  She  yet  wanted  a  hundred  dollars  of 
the  price,  when  he  died.  She  never  recovered  any 
of  the  money. 

These  are  but  few  facts,  among  multitudes  which 
might  be  adduced,  to  show  the  self-denial,  energy, 
patience,  and  honesty,  which  the  slave  has  exhibited 
in  a  state  of  freedom. 

And  let  it  be  remembered  that  these  individuals 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  633 

have  thus  bravely  succeeded  in  conquering  for 
themselves  comparative  wealth  and  social  position, 
in  the  face  of  every  disadvantage  and  discourage- 
ment. The  colored  man,  by  the  law  of  Ohio,  can- 
not be  a  voter,  and,  till  within  a  few  years,  was  even 
denied  the  right  of  testimony  in  legal  suits  with  the 
white.  Nor  are  these  instances  confined  to  the 
State  of  Ohio.  In  all  states  of  the  Union  we  see  men, 
but  yesterday  burst  from  the  shackles  of  slavery, 
who,  by  a  self-educating  force,  which  cannot  be  too 
much  admired,  have  risen  to  highly  respectable 
stations  in  society.  Pennington,  among  clergymen, 
Douglas  and  Ward,  among  editors,  are  well  known 
instances. 

If  this  persecuted  race,  with  every  discourage- 
ment and  disadvantage,  have  done  thus  much,  how 
much  more  they  might  do,  if  the  Christian  church 
would  act  towards  them  in  the  spirit  of  her  Lord  ! 

This  is  an  age  of  the  world  when  nations  are 
trembling  and  convulsed.  A  mighty  influence  is 
abroad,  surging  and  heaving  the  world,  as  with  an 
earthquake.  And  is  America  safe  ?  Every  nation 
that  carries  in  its  bosom  great  and  unredressed  in- 
justice has  in  it  the  elements  of  this  last  convulsion. 

For  what  is  this  mighty  influence  thus  rousing  in 
all  nations  and  languages  those  groanings  that  can- 
not be  uttered,  for  man's  freedom  and  equality  ? 

O,  Church  of  Christ,  read  the  signs  of  the  times  ! 
Is  not  this  power  the  spirit  of  Him  whose  kingdom 
is  yet  to  come,  and  whose  will  to  be  done  on  earth 
as  it  is  in  heaven  ? 

But  who  may  abide  the  day  of  his  appearing  ? 
"  for  that  day  shall  burn  as  an  oven  :  and  he  shall 
appear  as  a  swift  witness  against  those  that  oppress 
the  hireling  in  his  wages,  the  widow  and  the  father- 


634  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN. 

less,  and  that  turn  aside  the  stranger  i?i  his  right  : 
and  he  shall  break  in  pieces  the  oppressor." 

Are  not  these  dread  words  for  a  nation  bearing 
in  her  bosom  #so  mighty  an  injustice  ?  Christians  ! 
every  time  that  you  pray  that  the  kingdom  of  Christ 
may  come,  can  you  forget  that  prophecy  associates, 
in  dread  fellowship,  the  day  of  vengeance  with  the 
year  of  his  redeemed  ? 

A  day  of  grace  is  yet  held  out  to  us.  Both  North 
and  South  have  been  guilty  before  God ;  and  the 
Christian  church  has  a  heavy  account  to  answer. 
Not  by  combining  together,  to  protect  injustice  and 
cruelty,  and  making  a  common  capital  of  sin,  is  this 
Union  to  be  saved, — but  by  repentance,  justice  and 
mercy ;  for,  not  surer  is  the  eternal  law  by  which 
the  millstone  sinks  in  the  ocean,  than  that  stronger 
law,  by  which  injustice  and  cruelty  shall  bring  on 
nations  the  wrath  of  Almighty  God  ! 


THE    END. 


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